The Emancipation of Trish Stratus
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Trish Stratus and Triple H have a seemingly unbreakable bond. Until she falls for a RAW team mate determined to ruin everything Triple H has worked so hard to build. Now Trish has to outplay The Game in order to win the freedom to love.
1. Randy Reinstated

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_(Rated for strong language, mostly. Who knows? Maybe some other "mature" content later)_

_A/N: Alright, so this is not my first fanfic, but it **is** my first wrestling fiction. I've been aWWF/E fan since I was six, but I've never really thought about venturing into this genre of writing. Hope you guys like it. Oh, and just in case you might mistakenly think that I own the WWE or any of the characters mentioned in this story - let me assure you that I do not. If I did, you would be seeing this storyline on television, instead of reading it here. Enjoy - oh, and I love, love, love having my ego stroked, so feel free to review as often as you'd like. Just Kidding - about the ego-stroking, not the reviewing part._

* * *

"You," Trish Stratus pointed across the locker room to a shocked looking man in an expensive suit, "have lost your damn mind. Are you completely fucking retarded, man?" She waited for an answer, but he seemed dumbfounded by her sudden outburst. "In the history of bad ideas, Hunter, this is the most fucked up, ass backwards, shit-for-brains idea I have ever heard. You cannot possibly be serious." He may have been the Cerebral Assassin, but sometimes she wondered if he was shooting with a full round of ammo.

"You better watch swinging that head around like that, Stratus. You wouldn't want to tweak another disc," came the smug response from behind her.

Spinning on her heel, Trish leveled Randy Orton with a glare. "You stay the fuck out of this, you pompous, arrogant, eternal pain in my ass," she demanded before turning back to the man who had been her friend and confidant for so many years. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Slowly, a lazy smile stretched over Hunter's lips as he moved past the firey blonde in the center of the room to sit himself beside Orton on the leather couch. "Trish, Orton and I have discussed, at great length, what it means to be re-instated into Evolution. This was not something that I decided lightly," he started to explain.

But Trish wasn't ready to hear that it was well-thought-out or intelligent in any way. "Do you not remember that this asshole spit in your face? What about the time he screwed you out of your title? Which time you ask? Take your pick – he did it so damn many times I've lost fuckin' count," she spat, her face growing red.

They loved each other like a brother and sister would. But they fought as only siblings could, as well. When Trish entered the WWE, Hunter's star was skyrocketing, and he had taken her under his wing, backstage and in the ring. She was one of the few women who really deserved to sport that Women's title, and he was willing to help her do whatever it took to get there. Though she had never been officially announced as a member of Evolution, all four members knew that she was part of the team, and was to be watched over as one of their own.

Sure, she had done things over the years that had pissed him off, but she was Trish, and she could be forgiven. Most of the time, her outbursts were kind of cute. "Trish, settle down, okay? Orton knows that what he did was wrong. He knows that he made a mistake, or a few of them, and we've talked it out," he tried to explain.

Trish looked deep into Hunter's eyes and pleaded with him to understand why she couldn't stand having this punk-ass kid around. When he had first joined Evolution, with that cocky grin and that amazing body, she had crushed out a little. But, thankfully, before she went too far, she realized what a cocky blow-hard he was. They had never seen eye-to-eye again. Though they hid their contempt from Hunter at the time, it was out in the open now. And Trish wasn't about to settle for having him around again.

"Trish, tonight's your big come back, right?" She nodded, biting her lip to keep from saying something stupid. "Then maybe you should go see the trainer? Stretch out your neck? I wouldn't want you to get hurt out there." He stood and patted her back as she turned on her heel again and exited the room with a stomp, a huff, and an eye roll. "Guys," he said once she was gone. "I'm worried about her."

Ric Flair sighed, flopping onto the couch beside Orton. He was glad to have the kid back, to be honest. For awhile, it seemed like Orton was headed down an ugly path, back to the middle of a field of generic, no-talent, mid-carders, but Ric knew he was too talented to stay there for long. When Hunter had called and told him that Randy was interested in rejoining Evolution, that he had used his time off due to injury to think about his decisions and confess his sins, the legendary Nature Boy had been elated.

"Don't worry about her," Ric shook his head and waved his hand. "She loves you. She just gets protective," he winked.

Hunter nodded and looked to the door before meeting the gaze of the two men before him. "Yeah, well, I know her better than you do, Ric," he said, his hands resting on his narrow waist. "And I know that Trish only acts like she gives a shit what I'm doing when she's trying to hide something, or someone, she's doing."

Randy's eyebrow shot up. "You want me to catch her in the act? I could put up a video camera in her hotel room?" he asked, licking his lips at the thought.

Hunter sank to the couch and rapped his palm against the back of Orton's skull. "That girl is like my sister," he warned, a finger pointed in the young Legend Killer's face. "I want you guys to keep an eye on her, okay? Make sure that no one around here is putting any moves on her. She needs to stay focused on getting back into the ring and rebuilding her reputation, not running around with whatever knuckle-dragging ape she's into this time."

Little diid Hunter know, he was right on the money. Trish _was_ dating someone again, not that she would ever let on to her "older brother." She shuddered as she thought about that vein in his throat that had nearly jumped through his skin when he found out about Jeff Hardy. And then there was the whole Chris Jericho/Christian debaucle that had nearly caused Hunter to come unhinged. If there was one thing that Trish had learned, it was to keep Hunter away from anyone she was interested in.

And this one was especially important. Because, more than ever, this one meant something. This wasn't just anyone – it was The One. She had finally fallen in love, and she wasn't about to let anyone, not Evolution, especially not Hunter, fuck it all up for her.


	2. Running Interference

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I just wanted to take a second to say thanks to you guys who have reviewed the story already. That's awesome! I love to talk, mostly to hear the sound of my own voice, but it means a lot to know that people are diggin' what I have to say! Oh, and I wanted to let you know, in fairness, you're not going to find out who the boyfriend is for a while. But please keep sending me your suggestions and suspicions. You may or may not be right, but you might just give me an idea that I didn't have before. One character that you read in this chapter wasn't going to be there at all until I read one of your reviews. Sounds cryptic, I know, but I'm doing my best to let the story build itself and not give away too much too quickly. Sorry if you hate me for it - but if the suspense keeps you reading, I feel like I've done my job. Anyway, as per usual, I own nothing you read here - well, the ideas, but not the people._

* * *

"Where you at, girl?"

Trish looked up from her lonely spot in the back booth of a club in whatever city they were in. Two weeks had passed since Hunter had re-admitted Orton into Evolution, and things were not exactly comfortable between the two old friends. She was holding to her guns that the young upstart was not to be trusted, and Hunter wasn't letting go of the idea that he knew what he was doing.

The strain made it impossible for them to sit down for one of their infamous heart-to-hearts. And without that quiet, personal time, she had no way of letting him know that the man she was seeing, while a threat to the World Heavyweight title, wasn't a bad guy. She had always expected that, after she had a chance to explain, he would get it. Things would work out – he would understand – everything would be better. But until that time came, she was unwilling to share her relationship with the rest of the world. And it sucked.

She slid over in the booth as John Cena sank into the seat on her left. There were few people in the locker room that she considered her real friends, mostly because no one trusted her bond with Evolution, but John, along with Victoria, were two of her favorite people. "Hey, kid," she tried to smile brightly.

John sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, reclining in the booth as much as possible. "So, baby," he smiled and winked at her. "Why you sittin' over here all alone? Lookin' all sad and shit?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Where else am I gonna go?" she asked as Victoria sat a cocktail in front of Trish and then slid into the booth.

"You sure you don't have somewhere else to go?" the other woman asked pointedly. "Someone else to be with?" Everyone who knew Trish knew something was up with her lately. On the walk from the arena to the club, Victoria and John had deduced that it had to be a guy.

But Trish wasn't biting quite so easily. They could think they were clever, but she knew exactly what they were doing. And she had determined not to talk about _him_ until it was safe for _everyone_ to know. She wasn't taking any risks. She respected Hunter, and she didn't want to lose his friendship. But she also didn't want to lose the love of her life to one of his underhanded, "innocent" threats.

She easily transitioned the conversation onto happier topics, and managed to avoid the "boyfriend" thing all together for most of the night. After a couple of hours, though, her eyelids started to feel heavy and she tapped the table with the palms of her hands. "I'm headin' out, you guys," she said.

They both knew better than to argue when Trish was tired. Standing, John let her out of the booth and kissed her cheek before Victoria hugged her and told her to be careful walking back to the hotel. She thanked them both for their company and started for the door.

Until a large body blocked her path. Grimacing, she looked up into those crystal blue eyes and then rolled her hazel ones. "What the hell do you want?" she asked.

Randy smirked and clearly inspected her cleavage before answering. "Where you headed in such a hurry there, Princess?" he asked.

Raising an eyebrow, she cast a look to the side, noting that Triple H and Flair were there, with teeny-tiny, half-naked chicks draped over their chests. "What's the matter, Orton? Couldn't get a bimbo of your own?" She smirked. "Or do you just not go for that type? Are you finally admitting that you play for the other side?"

The smile faded from his lips and he cast a look at Triple H. It was a look that said, at least to Trish, that he would rather be anywhere than talking to her at that moment. "I know you don't like it, Trish, but I'm a part of Evolution again. I suggest you show me some respect."

She laughed. Right in his face, the laugh escaped her throat before she could stop it. "Show you some respect? For what? One Heavyweight title reign that lasted less than a month? Is that what you want respect for?" Shaking her head, she set out to push every one of his buttons – for the whole club to hear, if she had to. "I am a six-time champion, Orton. Maybe _you_ should show _me_ some respect."

And it was his turn to laugh, hands on his hips. When Hunter sent him over to cut her off at the door, he was supposed to convince her to come back to the table for a drink with her "real" friends. Now he just wanted to see how red her face would get before she blew up at him. "You're a six-time _Women's _Champion, Trish. I don't know if you've taken a good look around lately, but our business isn't exactly boasting the most stimulating competition in that area. You're barely, on a technicality, a champion, Sweetheart." With the quick raise of his eyebrow, he licked his lips. "Don't take that the wrong way, though. I mean, I'd still let you suck on my," he started.

Her blood boiled in her veins as she rested a finger on his lips and then grabbed his shirt collar, pulling his face close to her own. "I wouldn't suck on your damn wrestling boots if you dipped 'em in chocolate first, Orton. You listen to me – I don't like you. Hunter, for reasons known only to him, may trust you, but I don't. And I don't like people I don't trust." She let go of his lapel and straightened her own jacket, giving him a saccharine smile. "Now, why don't you run along and tell your little friends that I don't know what kind of game they're playing, but I don't appreciate it. If Hunter wants to know something about me, he should just fuckin' ask me himself, okay?" She gave her trademark giggle, patted his shoulder, and walked off.

Randy hung his head in defeat and walked back to the table, just as Hunter was instructing the girls to run along for a bit. They did whatever he told them to – it amazed Randy, even after months away, trying to convince himself that the cars and the women and money didn't matter. The power his mentor wielded was indescribable. "So, she just said she's goin' home," he mumbled.

Hunter laughed and pounded back another shot. "What she did, Orton, was hand you your ass on a platter, in front of everyone. I love that little girl," he said with a distant affection. Blinking, he turned back to Ric and Randy. "Ric, I want you to go have a talk with Cena – make sure nothing is gong on with them, and then we're getting' out of here. And remind me, guys, to talk to Trish about the places she chooses to hang out. It is definitely not Evolution standard."

Outside the club, Trish was shaking. "You're the _Women's_ Champion, Trish," she mocked Orton as she fished through her purse for her cell phone. "Yeah, well you're Triple H's bitch. Jack ass," she spat as she dialed a number and waited for an answer. She didn't get one.

"Baby, it's me," she spoke quickly as she walked in the direction of the hotel. "I just had a really ugly confrontation with the fuckin' Legend Killer, and I think Hunter might suspect something. I'm gonna wait to come over until later, but I'll definitely be over, okay? I gotta go, but I love you, and I miss you – even though I just saw you tonight. Bye."

If her theory was right, then Hunter was having Evolution follow her – at the arena, the hotels, the appearances, and even to clubs after the shows. She got the sinking suspicion that they knew something, but she wasn't sure if it was just her own paranoia, or the truth. Either way, she was done taking risks with her love life. If she had to make midnight rendezvous for the rest of her life, she wasn't letting this one go.


	3. Raging Bull

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: Okay - since my roommate and her boyfriend are hogging the living room and the television, I can think of nothing better to do than sit in my room and write some more chapters. Guess you guys benefit from my pain, huh? As always - I own nothing, unlessyou count thereally great bagels that I just bought at the grocery store an hour ago! Yum!_

* * *

One would think that, after nearly five years on the road, Trish would have somehow grasped the concept of time zones. No one else seemed to have a problem asking their agent, or some other form of management, what time it was in their home for the evening, but Trish honestly never thought of it. Her mind was always filled with more important issues, like her title, her latest strategy, or when she was finally going to get to rest for more than a couple of days.

And lately, it had been ten times worse. With _him_ cluttering every corner of her brain, Trish barely thought of anything else. She was always watching over her shoulder, making sure no one was catching on, slipping out of his room before any other superstar would dream of being up. And this time, it had cost her. If she had just waited for him to awaken, he could have told her that the time had changed, once again, and that she was going to end up at the arena long before everyone else.

By the time the other talent started filtering into the building, Trish had spent three hours at the Palace of Auburn Hills by herself. In order to avoid the backstage chaos, she had found a seat in the upper deck, far away from any other noise, and watched as the techs assembled the ring in the middle of the floor. Closing her eyes, she had spent twenty minutes just visualizing the matches of the night. She knew exactly what he should do to win his bout, and what she would have done, if she'd have been wrestling.

She spent the next fifteen minutes typing a message for her fan club to read on her web site, promising 100 percent Stratusfaction on the following week's RAW, when she met Lita for a championship defense. After that, she jotted quick postcards to her mother and grandmother, before penning a three page letter to the man of her dreams.

It was silly, when she thought about it, the amount of paper she had wasted on him. She knew, deep down, that she would never show him the letters she had written. But she justified it by telling herself that it was therapeutic to, at the very least, get them out of her head and into a tangible form. Maybe someday, when they were finally free of the all other restrictions, married with children in a beautiful home somewhere, she would share the intimate thoughts that she had for him in those blossoming moments, at the beginning of their relationship.

After spending nearly an hour and a half in the arena, she had tromped back to her locker room, set up camp in the most remote corner she could find, and then went to wander the underbelly of the stadium. She had called him and left a sweet, hushed voice mail about how much she wished they could bring their relationship into the open. She gushed a little while longer about how he deserved a shot at the Heavyweight title, and about how she knew he would win it eventually. With a sincere "I love you," she ended the call and headed back to the locker room.

By the time she reached the main hall way, people were rushing, shouting, and scurrying everywhere. She avoided three run-ins with people she didn't even recognize before a heavy hand gripped her arm and pulled her into Evolution's locker room. She didn't even look up at her captor before she spat, "You better have a pretty damn good excuse for putting your hands on me, Orton!"

When he let go and slammed the locker room door, Trish finally looked around. Flair was nowhere to be seen and Orton was blocking the entrance. Hunter, dressed in full ring attire, glowered at her from the couch, three pieces of pink paper in his hands. "What the hell," she started, her stomach sinking to her toes. "Is that my letter?"

He didn't speak, only growled. She could have sworn his nostrils flared when he stood and leveled his menacing glare at her again. "I thought we had an understanding, Trish," he stated angrily. "After Christian, I thought we agreed that you were not going to fuck around with anyone else on the roster. I thought you understood that it was not only a bad business move, but also a really bad psychological move. I thought that you and I were pretty clear about the fact that no one in that locker room is good enough for you!" He stomped his foot like the raging bull that he was so closely resembling.

Trish swallowed hard. He loved her like she was his own sister, and she knew that. But he was also scary as hell when he didn't get his way. "Hunter, listen," she started in a whisper.

"You want to be known as the resident whore? Do you?" he demanded. "Because you're on your way right now. First it was that Hardy freak. And then Jericho and Christian. Do you want people to think the only reason you have that title is because you know how to open wide and say "ah"? Does professionalism mean nothing to you, Stratus? Do you just close your eyes and forget what it means to represent this company as a champion?"

He watched as her dark eyes grew wide, and for a moment, he felt bad. She was his little Trish-ster. She was the one who made him laugh when everyone else was getting on his nerves. She was the one who let him sleep on her couch when Steph got pissed and threw him out. And she was the one who never stopped believing in him, even when he was being an arrogant ass.

She was one of the most kind-hearted and pure souls he knew. Sure, the fans called her a slut, and sometimes she could act, and dress, like one. But he knew the real Trish – the one who had never dated, let alone slept with, anyone she didn't really like. She wasn't careless, and she wasn't nasty – even though most of the other "divas" took pride in being just that.

But one glance at the pink paper in his hand, and being angry wasn't so hard. His Trish wasn't dirty, but the things she said in that letter were. The things that this bastard made her think were filthy, and they were bothering Hunter more than he could even explain. "Let me ask you, Trish," he started, moving slightly closer and reading from the paper. "How did it feel to be bent over like a naughty child and spanked until," he started.

She ripped the letter from his hands and glared back. "This was none of your mother fucking business, you overbearing son of a bitch," she shouted. "How dare you go through my things? How dare you follow me around, and violate my privacy? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He narrowed his eyes and stepped even closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I wanna know who this is about," he said in a forced whisper that said he meant business.

"So you can kick his ass, end his career,and ruin the best thing that has ever happen to me? I don't think so," she growled right back, turning on her heel and smacking him in the face with her hair. The only thing Trish forgot was that she had to get through Orton to get out of the room. And his expression said he had no interest in moving. "Get out of my way, Ass Face," she demanded.

"Let her go, Orton," Hunter seethed. "She'll be back," he called loudly as Trish ran from the room. "She'll be back," he added as he sank back to the couch.

"Can I ask you something, man?" Randy asked as he shut the door again, thinking over what he had just seen. "Why's it such a big to you? I mean, Trish is a big girl – she's an adult and everything. Why does it matter who she's fuckin' around with?"

Hunter shrugged. "I don't know, man. I mean, I know what this business can do to a person, ya know? It can distort your reality and disillusion you really quickly, if you're not careful." He sighed heavily and leaned his head back. "I don't want to see that happen to Trish."

Orton rolled his eyes and went to his own locker, shedding his dress pants and pulling on his blue wrestling trunks. He had a match to prep for, and he was tired of the "touchy-feely," "I've got a sensitive side, too" Hunter. "If you want my opinion," he threw over his shoulder as he laced up his boots, "The girl can hold her own. From what I've seen anyway."

Standing, Hunter stripped his tee shirt over his head and started for the door. "I didn't ask for your opinion," he snarled as he slammed the door behind him. The only thing worse that knowing Trish was shacking up with another RAW Superstar was knowing she was pissed at him. And he vowed to make it right before they left the arena that night.


	4. Revealing Conversation

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: No real note this time - just a disclaimer. They're not mine. That's it._

* * *

Not for the first time, Trish was wishing that she had a match scheduled for the night. Before it was just so she could get in the ring and do some work. But now she really wanted to do some damage. She wanted to envision Hunter in that ring, holding her personal property, and demanding to know who she was writing about. And she wanted to hurt that person, whoever was unlucky enough to step between the ropes and into the squared circle with her that night.

She heard the screams of the crowd as the show kicked off, and she joined them. Shouting, she buried her fist into the nearest wall and then kicked it for good measure.

"I'm assuming that was meant for me," came a small voice from behind her.

She didn't turn – didn't think she could look at him right then. "I really don't wanna talk to you right now," she sighed, closing her eyes and wishing that he would go away.

Hunter watched as she sank to the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and then sat beside her. "You don't have to talk to me," he assured her, looking around to make sure they were alone. "I'm sorry I went through your stuff, okay? It's just that I worry about you, and you haven't really seemed yourself lately."

She didn't want to hear that tone in his voice – the one that said he was the old Hunter, the one that she trusted and respected more than just about everyone on the planet. "Look how you react," she started to reason with him. "I mean, is there any reason I should have told you what was going on? What with you flailing around and calling me a whore?"

He cringed at the sound of his words coming back to bite his ass. "I shouldn't have said it. It just – seeing those things you wrote – it set me off," he smiled sheepishly. "I know you may find this hard to believe, but I'm known for having kind of a short fuse sometimes."

"So I've heard," she smiled slightly, nudging his arm with her shoulder. "Listen, I know you feel this need to protect me, but I'm a big girl, Hunter. I know what I'm doing, okay? Just trust me on it."

He nodded and stood, offering her his hand. "Fine – ya know what? I trust you, Trish. I mean, if this guy makes you as happy as that letter made you sound, I'm sure he's great, right?"

They began to walk back toward the main hallway as Trish felt the bounce returning to her step. "He's amazing," she sighed.

"Great," Hunter responded, watching his feet as they walked. "So, maybe we should invite him into Evolution? I mean, it wouldn't be so bad to have another trusted guy around to protect my title, right?"

Trish's blood ran cold as she stopped in the middle of the hall. "What?" she asked, her brain going numb.

He turned, a look of complete, innocent ignorance on his face. "What? You said, in the letter, that he was one of the best wrestlers today. I just thought we could teach him a thing or two, make him even better."

"Bull shit," she spat, her eyes narrowing as she placed her hands on her hips. "This is not about me at all, is it? If you read that letter, then you know he wants your title. This whole thing," she motioned around her, "this apology thing was just to bring him close enough to keep an eye on him, wasn't it?"

"It's about making sure that you don't get hurt," he spoke evenly, but Trish could tell that he was struggling.

"It's never been about me!" Her voice rose as she pointed a finger his way. "NEVER!" The realization hit her like a truck as she felt her stomach churn. She trusted him – loved him like her brother. And all that time, when she thought he was doing the same, returning the affection? He was using her. "Batista said it, when he left you guys behind. The only thing you care about is that belt around your waist. You will lie, cheat, steal, and manipulate anyone who cares about you to keep it there, won't you?" Her eyes grew wide. "That's why you took Orton back. Because you know he'll go for your blessedbelt if he's not a part of Evolution. You're scared of him."

Hunter put his hands on his hips. If it were possible for smoke to truly billow out of someone's ears, it would have been rolling out of his. "You listen to me carefully, Trish. I didn't get into this business to make friends. The people that are close to me, are not close to me accidentally. I have always told you, since day one, you are the only one looking out for you in this business. Watch your back, and don't trust anybody," he hissed.

"I've got some advice for you now, Hunter." She shook her head and moved toward him, her hand raised. "What you want, can be taken from you," she sneered. For a second, he thought about ducking as she aimed for his head. But, at the last second, her hand dropped, struck the gold on his hips, and sent the belt crashing to the floor. Silence followed the echo of metal on concrete as Trish raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. "That quick."

And she was gone. He watched her, daggers shooting from his eyes, but Trish never noticed. She was already formulating a plan of her own. If she had anything to say about it, Triple H would curse the day he ever took Trish Stratus under his wing.


	5. Momentary Lapse in Judgement

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I own my truck, some frozen waffles, and an RKO tee shirt. I do not own any of the characters you're going to read about here._

* * *

For the first time in his professional life, Hunter didn't care about the match ahead of him. His mind was wrapped around Trish's accusations, and that little threat she had hissed just before she walked away. Of course, she was right. He had invited Orton back into Evolution to keep an eye on him. And he did care a lot about his title. But there were things he cared more about in the world. He cared about the future of the business, and it's current reputation. He cared about Steph and Ric. And he cared about Trish.

When he had suggested bringing her new lover into Evolution, it was, indeed to keep an eye on him. But it wasn't to protect his title. It was to protect her. It was to make sure that some gold-digging, power-hungry upstart like Batista, Benjamin, Edge, or Cena didn't try to get to him through her. She thought she knew the business after five years, but he knew that she still led with her heart, and that it would get her into trouble, just as it always did.

She was so damn stubborn, though. He could put it all on the line, tell her everything that he was really feeling, and she wouldn't listen. She would just put her hands on her hips, stick out that enormous chest, and tell him to go to hell, that she could take care of herself. Sure, she could. Just like she had taken care of herself with Hardy, Jericho, and that fuckin' chump nut, Christian. Sometimes she made him so angry – he just wanted to grab her by her blonde hair and yank some sense into her. What the hell was her problem anyway?

By the time he was called to the ring for his match, his adrenaline was pumping and a sick smile tweaked his lips. Channeling all of his anger toward Trish, he ralled the troups and led Orton and Flair to the ring. Creative visualization was going to leave Edge crying for his mommy, or that stupid whore he had valeting for him these days.

XXX

Trish watched the screen at gorilla position with great interest. She had absolutely no affection for Lita or Edge, but the way that Triple H was dismantling her fellow Canadian made her stomach sick. He was so calculating, so cold about every move. He knew he had already twisted Edge's surgically repaired neck and back, probably bad enough to keep him out of action for a couple of weeks, and now he was mercilessly attacking the same spot with knee, after knee, after knee.

Jack-off's Orton and Flair were doing a great job of keeping the ref distracted while Hunter continued the assault. Lita was screaming for him to stop, and Trish felt ill at the sudden realization that she would have found that extremely funny a couple of weeks ago. Triple H destroying a man's career in the ring? Ha, ha, bloody ha. Crippling someone for the sake of protecting his own reputation? It was all part of the game. It was kill, or be killed, within that stretch of canvas, and he was doing what anyone else would have been doing in his position.

Except that all she could see, each time Hunter's elbow or shoulder dropped onto Edge's back, was the face of the man she loved. That's exactly what was going to happen when he found out – he was going to try to end _his_ career. He was going to destroy everything. And he was going to succeed. Because he always did – he was The Game.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand by anymore. Edge somehow buried his fist in Triple H's gut and found his way to his feet. Waiting for Hunter to regain his composure, he coiled in the corner, ready to deliver a devastating Spear. She blinked as Flair tried to hold the ref's attention by jumping onto the apron while Orton grabbed the Heavyweight title belt and snuck toward the ring.

By the time Lita grabbed Orton's arm to stop him, Trish was already on her way down the ramp. She wasn't thinking about what she was doing, didn't even stop to consider the consequences as she slid ito the ring, raised the chair she had brought with her, and crushed it over Triple H's head, immediately sliding back out again. She threw the chair beside the ring and backed up the ramp.

The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. Flair and Orton grew red-faced, shouting loud profanities at her from the opposite side of the ring. Edge and Lita watched her in wide-eyed shock. The referee tried to figure out what the hell had happened, and why no one was moving. The crowd cheered. And Hunter lay deathly still in the middle of the squared circle.

Finally, Edge snapped back to reality and threw his body over Hunter's for the win. But Trish had already high-tailed it fo rhte locker room. She had unleashed her hell on Triple H, but the victory would be short-lived. Soon, he would recover. And Trish had a feeling no one would be able to save her from his fury.


	6. Plan of Attack

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: You know the drill, right? I don't own 'em.

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"Are you out of your goddamned mind, woman?" The voice thundered through the locker room, booming over the echo of the slamming door._

Trish jumped from her position in front of her locker. "Are you trying to give me a fuckin' heart attack?" she screeched.

Batista's face was red, dripping with sweat, and not at all happy. "What were you thinking? Wait," he held up a finger. "Clearly, you weren't," he seethed, pounding his fist into a nearby locker. "How many times do I have to tell you, Trish? You don't fuck with Hunter unless you plan on backing it up. And unless you have some magic growth potion in that gym bag, you cannot back this up!"

With a hand over her heart to steady the thumping, she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "I'm getting out of here. I made a reservation at a different hotel, and I'm going to avoid him until I can figure out what I'm going to do next," she insisted, turning and hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.

His heavy palm on her tiny shoulder spun her around. He was more than a foot taller than she was, and almost twice as wide, but she felt nothing but secure in his presence. "You gonna hide forever?" he asked, his voice calming considerably.

He had always been good to her, when he was with Evolution, and the look in his eyes hadn't changed since he left. She wasn't a part of what had happened between him and Hunter, and he didn't hold her responsible. But what she had pulled in the ring? That was flat-out stupid. And it wasn't like her.

"I don't know," Trish answered in a whisper. She hadn't been thinking – it had all been instinct. And now the fear was setting in.

A pounding at the door sent her heart racing again. "Open the fucking door. NOW!"

Batista moved quickly, unlocked the door, and then shut it behind Cena, who moved to Trish with lightning speed, enveloping her in a suffocating hug. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he laughed into her hair. "That was the most fucked up thing I ever seen anybody do in my life." His voice came out strangled through the filter of his own terror.

As he set her back on the ground, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and sniffled back an involuntary tear. "You guys," she sighed, licking her lips and sinking onto the bench beside her. "What the hell have I done?"

"You started a war, Baby," Cena answered simply, resting his hands on his hips. "But it's okay. We got your back."

Batista rolled his eyes at the man beside him and then looked back to the frail woman in the corner. "Look, Trish, what's done is done, and we can't change that. My only concern is getting you out of this arena before they find you, and we've already wasted too much time." He cast his eyes to the clock behind her as yet another knock sounded at the door.

"Trish?" Lita's soft voice sounded from the other side, barely above a whisper.

Cracking the door, Batista looked out at the red-head with a deadly glare. "What?" he barked.

"Edge is pulling his car around back," Lita said, her eyes darting back and forth at the hallway. "If you guys can get her around this corner, he'll be waiting to take you wherever you wanna go," she cleared her throat as a boom sounded near gorilla position. "And tell her thanks, for what she did tonight."

Batista nodded and closed the door firmly. "They're coming," he said.

Cena took Trish's bag over his shoulder. "Carry her," he ordered the big man as he headed for the door and peeked outside. "He still looks pretty loopy," he reported on the sight at the opposite end of the hall. "Flair's makin' all the noise, but it looks like Orton's takin' him to the training room." He shut the door softly and then looked back to where Trish was grasping Batista's neck tightly. "Move quick. Don't stop. Let's go."

When he was out the door, Trish felt Batista's chest rumble with slight laughter. "What?" she asked.

"I think makin' that movie went to his head," he smirked as he headed into the hall, avoided eye contact, and started for the back entrance. Trish just rested her head against his shoulder and waited until they were outside to breath. She had to savor every slight intake of air from here on out – she feared it just might be her last.


	7. Losing Her Mind

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I don't own anything. Also, I'm really sorry if there's a bunch of errors in this chapter. I was in kind of a hurry to get it posted. And thanks, again, for the reviews. You guys are the coolest._

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_"You got this one in the bag, Champ," he smiled at his girlfriend as Trish stalked around the women's locker room like a caged animal. It had been a week since she had made her fateful in-ring appearance against Triple H, and she hadn't heard from him since. That fact alone left her almost paranoid enough to forfeit her title to Christy Hemme without ever approaching the ring. 

She smiled at _him_ sweetly and then resumed her pacing. He had been so good to her – all week, promising that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He had it under control. He wasn't going to let anyone touch her, and nothing was going to get in the way of them being together. He had promised that, when it was over and they could finally let everyone in on their secret, everything would be perfect. He even promised her that the McMahon-Helmsley Era would have nothing on their reign once the dust settled.

"You shouldn't be here " she chastised, glancing at the clock. "if you get caught," she added nervously.

But he stood from the bench and wrapped his bulging arms around her tiny waist. "Baby, relax. No one has figured anything about us until we were ready for them to figure it out, right?" He flashed her a smile and then nodded, waiting for her to return the gesture. He touched his forehead to hers when she finally smiled. "Me and the guys are gonna make sure that nothing happens to you, and that Triple H doesn't find out what's waiting for him until it's way, way too late to fix it."

The calming effected of his deep voice soothed her to the core. "I love you," she whispered before the shouting of some stage hand interrupted their moment of silence. "You better go."

"I love you, too," he answered, brushing his lips against hers. He held her face in his large hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You just go out and make sure you hold on to that title tonight, okay?"

She rolled her eyes and patted his ass as he trotted to the door, darted his head out quickly, and then exited without a look back. Rationally, logically, there was no way that their plan was ever going to work. But even the most insane idea sounded like mathematical fact when he whispered in her ear as sleep took over her exhausted body in the pre-dawn, post-coital hours of the morning.

Licking her lips, she turned her attention to beating Christy for the women's title. Something had happened with Lita's knee in training and she had cancelled at the last minute, so Bischoff had thrown a bone Hemme's way. Once Trish kicked her ass, and secured her title, they could focus on _his_. And then they could come out to the world – and she could tell everyone exactly how much she loved him.

XXX

Christy, bless her heart, tried her damnedest to pull out some move, any move, that could defeat Trish. But she just wasn't that good. At least, not six-time champion good. Every time Trish whipped her across the ring and slammed her tiny back into the turnbuckle, the veteran's confidence grew. Each time she knocked the red-head to the mat and then pulled her up by her extensions, Trish could taste another successful title defense.

Gearing up for the Chick Kick, Trish envisioned the smirk that she would give the crowd as she swaggered back to the locker room. And she envisioned the congratulatory kiss that would be waiting for her at midnight. And that's when it happened.

His music hit, and she took her eyes off the prize. Turning, she watched Triple H's angry face flash in green on the Titantron. Before she could steady herself, she felt Christy grab her thigh and pull her backward. The three-count sounded before she realized she'd been pinned. She had lost. She had lost to Christy fuckin' Hemme.

And then she heard the voice. The cold, sinister snicker of the man she had been dreading. Christy was out of the ring, up the ramp, and past Evolution before Lilian could present her as the new Women's Champion. And Trish was in the ring alone, facing her own undoing, three times over. No on was coming to her aid – no one was busting through the curtain. And they were all strutting down the ramp with bad intentions in their eyes.

"Awe, Trish," Triple H looked behind him as he spoke into the microphone with mock-sweetness that made her stomach turn. All three members of Evolution, dressed to the nines, stopped half-way between the ring and the top of the ramp, grinning like idiots. "I hope you didn't just lose your Women's Championship because of me," he said.

She backed toward the middle of the ring as the "boos" rang out, waiting. What the hell was he going to do? Surely they wouldn't triple-team a woman on national television. Even they wouldn't stoop that low, would they? "What do you want?" she shouted, refusing to show them any more fear. It wasn't like she could avoid the confrontation – she had to face the music, and she had to do it now.

"What do I want?" Hunter asked, his voice turning icy. "I want an explanation. I want to know what the hell you were thinking when you ran your little ass into this ring last week and bashed me over the skull with a steel chair!" The vein was popping in his throat, and his eyes appeared to be on fire. "What I want, even more than an explanation, is an apology, Stratus!"

He wanted an apology? After everything he had said to her a week ago? Watch your back? Don't trust anyone? And now he wanted her to apologize? She backed toward Lilian, took the microphone, her eyes never leaving Evolution. She was already trapped like a rat. If she was gonna go down, it wasn't going to be with a whimper. "Well, since that's not gonna happen, let's talk about what I want, huh?" He seemed surprised at her gall, as did the other two. "I want a championship. And since you just cost me mine," she looked squarely at his shoulder and pointed, "I want yours."

There was a collective gasp from the audience. Who did this five foot, four inch diva think she was? And did she ever think before she did anything anymore? She could only imagine was JR and King were saying at the announcer's table. But for the first time, she felt completely clear-headed about what she was doing.

"Is this about your secret, Champion-wannabe boyfriend, Trish? The one who is so hell-bent on taking my title? Did he put you up to this?" He laughed and turned to each of his co-horts for confirmation. "See, guys? This is why I always tell you – pick the sluts like Stratus here, and you can get 'em to do damn near anything for you."

She cleared her throat, her gaze steady and undeterred. "Not everything is about sex, you perverted sack of crap," she spat, adjusting her language for the television cameras. She took a step forward, closer to them. "this is about you taking something that was very important to me. This is about making my own decisions for once. This is personal."

He laughed again and nodded. "So you want me to walk into that ring and just hand you the greatest prize in this business?" She shrugged. "Sweetheart, I have given blood, sweat, and tears for this belt. It means more to me than your stupid piece of Women's crap ever meant to you. You want it? You're gonna have to earn it," he challenged.

There were more "boos" through the arena, rising to a deafening level. Nobody was going to get behind the ass who would challenge Trish to a Heavyweight title match. He would break her in half by the time the bell rang. But she could see it in his eyes – there was something that noen of them would ever detect. There was a deep-seeded concern that she might actually say "yes." There was something there that said he didn't want to get in the ring with her.

"Fine," she squared her shoulders and watched him take a small step backward. Orton and Flair made no attempt to mask their shock. "You want me? You got me. Triple H versus Trish Stratus for the World Heavyweight Championship this Sunday at SummerSlam." She waited for Bischoff's music to hit, for him to charge out and inform both of them that it was crazy, dangerous, and impossible for them to fight at the upcoming Pay-Per-View. She waited for anyone to stop it – but no one did.

There was nothing in the arena but the silent glare of two stubborn individuals who were each willing to put it all on the line for a chance to prove themselves right. Somewhere in those moments, Trish realized, it stopped being about him. It wasn't about love or championships anymore. It was about proving that she didn't need to hide behind anyone. Win or lose, she was going to show Hunter that no one controlled Trish Stratus.

"Trish," he started to laugh and then leveled her with a glare. "You got yourself a deal. And when I beat you, you will tell me exactly who it is that you've been whoring around with. You will tell me, and then you will watch as he comes to this ring, and Evolution tears him limb for limb. You will become an example to everyone in that locker room. You will be the poster child for what happens to you, and to everyone you love, when you have the nerve to challenge The Game."

She wanted to believe that something inside of him still cared about her a little bit. She wanted to believe that he only wanted to win, not hurt her. But even if that was the case, it didn't mean that he wasn't willing to hurt everyone, and everything, that mattered to her. He was willing to destroy the one man who meant more to her than a title ever would.

Even as that reality was sinking in, and Evolution took another step closer to her, Trish didn't falter. It was personal. She would not live in fear of him – his opinion or his abuse – anymore. With her arms crossed over her chest, she glared at all three of them and waited.

And just as things had moved in slow motion for her the week before, time seemed to crawl again. She saw Batista first, and then Cena, along with Edge, tearing down the ramp. She saw Hunter take a hit between his shoulders as Batista sent him flying into the apron, face first. She saw Edge spear Orton into the cement floor. She saw Cena grab Ric's arm and drive him into the steel steps. She heard the crowd go wild.

Her eyes focused on him. God, he was beautiful. Even brawling with every intention of destroying, he was beautiful. The muscles and the sweat, and the . . . She stopped cold when a thought hit her. She had just challenged Triple H to a World Heavyweight title match at SummerSlam. Holy shit – they were right. She was losing her damn mind.


	8. Calm Before The Storm

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: Well, lookie here - an update! I know it's been a couple of days, but my roommate and I have been tag-teaming our cable modem and it's been kickin' our asses. Anyway, I think things are good now - so on with the show. I was going to combine the this chapter and the next, but I think this one kind of needed to stand on its own. I was hoping for a quick blurb, but Trish and her "mystery man" demanded a little more time. Hope you guys enjoy it. Oh, and before I forget - thanks for the really nice reviews. You guys are the best, and it's a little overwhelming to know that you're liking my shit enough to ask for more. Also, I'm assuming you're all smart enough to know thatmy broke ass still doesn't own any of the people in this story!_

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When he found her, she was alone in the most secluded of spots behind the loading dock of the arena, bobbing and weaving in a circle, punching and kicking at the air. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, her hands tightly wrapped in tape, her shoulders visibly tense. She knew better than to be alone before the biggest match of her career. But, as he watched her, he couldn't be mad.

She threw a right, and then a hard left. It wasn't enough. He knew she wasn't strong enough. She couldn't outwrestle Triple H, and she didn't have a prayer of matching his power. She threw another hard right. It wouldn't be enough to budge a punching bag, but the flinch on her face said it was plenty to nearly dislocate her shoulder. If she didn't relax, she was going to get hurt before the bell ever rang.

He watched as she bit her lower lip and plotted another series of kicks and punches. She was in way over her head, and he knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. There was no way that Trish Stratus, for all of her spunk and finesse, had a glimmer of hope once she stepped onto the mat with Triple H. There was no way she was walking out of that ring. And there was no way he was leaving Miami without a restaurant-quality beating.

"I know you're there," she said, finally stopping to run a hand over her sweaty ponytail. She didn't care that she wasn't going to "wow" the crowd with her skimpy apparel and perfect appearance tonight. She cared about breaking Hunter's nose and making him cry. She didn't have to look like an international fitness model to do that.

Stepping out of the shadow, he shrugged. "Sorry. I couldn't resist takin' a minute to watch my million dollar baby," he winked.

She rolled her eyes and pointed a taped fist at him. "Don't call me that," she warned. "I know how that movie ended, remember?"

He nodded and moved closer, holding something in front of him. "Ya know, for as paranoid as Hunter can be, you'd think he'd have better security in his locker room."

Trish reached out and accepted the gift he was presenting. "How did you?" she asked and then stopped short, her hands sliding over the wooden handle of the sacred sledgehammer.

He shrugged and leaned against the wall, pulling her tiny body close to his. "It's amazing what a few bucks and a growl will get you around here," he winked. "Look, you don't have to use it tonight. I just thought it would be better if you knew he couldn't."

Trish sighed and looked up into his eyes. Those eyes had probed her into revealing more of her soul than she had ever shared with anyone. Those eyes had glimmered and glinted when he talked about regaining the Heavyweight title. But she rested in the confidence that they never shone brighter than when he was talking about how much he loved her.

With a hand on her cheek, he rubbed her back gently. "You know you don't have to do this, right? I mean, I want you to absolve your demons or whatever, but we can find another way. One that doesn't involve you being crippled for life?"

She wanted to. She wanted to call Bischoff, tell him that she forfeited, and then run away to a deserted Caribbean island with her secret lover forever. But that wasn't going to solve anything. Running never did. She wrapped her own hand around the one supporting her cheek and blinked up at him. "You know I still love you, no matter what happens tonight, right? Whatever he says or does? It's still you and me, right? This doesn't change anything."

He leaned his forehead against hers and noted the rapid beating of her heart next to his chest. "Sweetheart," he said in a steady voice. "Tonight changes everything." With a sigh, he stood straight up again, loosening his grip on her. She wanted to believe that she could win this fight, and then walk back into the world of happily-ever-after. She wanted to believe that beating Hunter would show him that she was independent, and that he would respect her for it. But he didn't have the heart to tell her that her fairy tale wasn't going to come true.

He knew that he was, at least in part, to blame for all of this. He had never asked her to sever her ties with Hunter. He had never asked her to attack him or challenge him for his title. He had never even asked her for help in acquiring said belt for himself. But he had never told her to stop this madness, either. He had let her do whatever she wanted, and just stood back and trusted her judgment. He had encouraged her to stand up for herself. He had put her in this position. And if she got hurt – if her career, or worse, ended at SummerSlam – the blood would be on his hands.

"What are you thinking?" she asked finally, after nearly ten minutes of just staring at one another in complete silence. If the world was moving, they weren't aware.

He smiled and brushed the ponytail away from her shoulder, touching her face again. He couldn't help it. She was beautiful. She was amazing. And she was his. "That you are the bravest person I have ever met," he answered finally, running his thumb over her bottom lip as she smiled and then looked away. "And that I don't know what the hell I ever did to deserve a goddess like you." Quickly, he raised an eyebrow, causing her to smile wider. "Or what heinous thing you did to deserve an ass clown like me," he added.

She raised an eyebrow of her own and poked his hard chest with her fingernail. "What did I tell you about that?" He nodded. "No using my ex-boyfriend's phrases – it's creepy and it's not at all cute," she chided.

He held up his free hand in defense, and started to speak again. But the urge to kiss her was stronger than his resistance. Leaning forward, he took her bottom lip between his teeth and then sucked it into his mouth, letting his tongue run slowly over the plump flesh until she moaned from the back of her throat and grasped his shoulders for support. Her tongue began to fight back and he could feel her body straining as she stood on her tip-toes and ran her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck.

When he finally pulled back, he breathed, "God, I love you," with heavily-lidded eyes.

She returned her feet to the ground and rested her palm against his heart. "And I love you. More than any of this other bull shit. You know that, right?" He nodded. "Because I only want to win tonight so that we can finally be together. Out there. I want the world to know how ass-backwards crazy I am for you."

He kissed her quickly again and then checked his watch. "I gotta get back in there and get ready for my match." He reluctantly let go of her shoulder, but kept his other hand entwined with hers. "But promise me that you will remember two things tonight, okay?" He tilted his head to the side. "Three things."

She smiled fully. "What?"

He held up one finger and tried to convey the seriousness of the situation with a hard stare. Only it was impossible when he was looking at her. She made him smile all the time. "Leverage," he stated and then held up a second finger, "and momentum. You can't overpower Hunter, but you can knock him onto the mat if you hit him from up high or use his own momentum to trip him up, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip, an adorable picture of full concentration. "Once you get him down, we'll distract the ref, and you hit him in the one place you know you can hurt him, okay?"

"Got it," she nodded. "Leverage and momentum." She let go of his hand as he started back toward the arena. "hey," she called out and he stopped, throwing a look back over his broad shoulder. "What's the third?"

He gave her a smirk, and a wink, and then stared into her eyes with an intensity that seemed to bore right through her. "No matter what? I got your back."


	9. A New World Heavyweight Champion

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: You guys know that I value your reviews, but with this chapter, it's especially important to me. I wasn't even going to write the actual match, because I'm not exactly confident with my ability to create anything remotely believable, but the writer in me couldn't stand down from the challenge. Let me know if you think it sounds okay or if I failed miserably and I need to keep my characters out of the ring permanently. Anyway, I found something else that I do own - a DX jersey that my ex-boyfriend bought me at a house show in '99. Whooooo!Now I can snuggle into my vintage souvenier and dream of Mr. Ass. And yet, sadly, I still don't own any of the wrestlers or their characters. Life's a bitch like that.Oh, well - enjoy!_

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If you asked Trish Stratus how she beat Triple H, she knew she couldn't tell you. It wasn't supposed to happen. She knew it, and so did everyone else in that arena. Her body wasn't supposed to do the things she had forced it to do. She was not supposed to be the first female World Heavyweight Champion in history. But she was. And it had only taken her fifteen minutes to do it. Well, her and a couple of friends.

The evening hadn't started well. He had grabbed her arm and whipped her hard into the ring post, sending flames of pain up her recently injured back. She lay there for a minute, praying that he would just pin her and get it over with. Flair made his way toward her, sneering something about getting what she deserved when the ref leaned over the top rope and warned him to back up.

Maybe no one in the arena expected Trish to find her feet, but she couldn't forget the reasons she was in that ring. On wobbly legs, she began to stand as Cena argued with Orton and Flair on the outside and Batista taunted the champion on the inside. The ref was busy trying to keep track of all of them as she climbed to the top turnbuckle and waited, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

When Triple H turned to find her, she launched herself through the air and knocked him to the mat with a Five Star Frog Splash that would have made Van Dam proud. It would have made her proud, too, had it not been for the fear that she had popped an implant on impact. Before she had a chance to hook his leg, Triple H kicked out with enough velocity to throw her body a good three feet.

She got to her feet and threw him a defiant stare, noticing the shock in his eyes for the first time. How the hell had little Trish Stratus nearly pinned the World Heavyweight Champion? His nostrils flared and he stepped back, exploding off the ropes with an outstretched arm, but she ducked the clothesline and used his own momentum to flip him in a rather impressive arm drag. Four surprised faces watched from the outside of the ring, and one stared back at her on the inside.

She got cocky, giving him a wink and a grin at that moment, until she felt a hand grasp her ankle and send her flying, face first, into the mat. The referee screamed at Orton to get away, and then she heard a thud. It sounded like a truck, so she knew it had to be Batista.

Beginning to crawl to her feet, she felt Hunter grab her shoulders and drag her to the center of the ring. Her head was shoved between his thighs and he gathered one of her thin arms to her back. The Pedigree was coming and she didn't know how to counter it. What had been foolish arrogance in her chest a moment ago was replaced by dreadful panic. That move would break her neck, and it would be all over. She would fail.

As she was frantically searching for some genius idea to counter his signature move, she felt his body crash over hers and someone pulling her out of the way. She rolled over, blinking at the lights as her ears caught snippets from all around her. The ref was screaming again, and she heard Orton's voice in response, demanding that the man in the stripes watch what was going on in the ring. The crowd was cheering wildly and she made it to her knees just in time to see Cena drop a brass-knuck adorned Five Knuckle Shuffle onto The Game's face.

He slid out of the ring before the referee turned back around, much to Flair's loud protesting behind her. Crawling on her knees, Trish covered Hunter, but he kicked out on two. She was at a loss. If he didn't stand up, she couldn't get leverage or momentum. Her strategy was quickly making its way down the toilet, dragging her hope of a victory with it.

Batista and Cena gathered at her side of the ring – Orton and Flair on Hunter's. He struggled to his feet, his face bleeding from the impact of those knucks, and then he dropped back to his knees. If she could only distract the ref – give her boys a chance to find a chair or that sledgehammer, she could put him away. But they both seemed enthralled with the mystery of what came next.

With a strength she didn't know she had, she went to the top rope again. Flair moved toward her as the referee tried to coax her down. She pointed to Flair and Cena rolled his shoulder that direction, cutting the older man off at the pass. Orton climbed into the ring, the championship belt in his hands, and Trish's eyes widened in horror. If she missed this maneuver, it was over. If she over-shot, or Hunter ducked, she was going head first into twenty pounds of leather and gold, and she wasn't getting back up.

Batista slid into the ring, despite being reprimanded by the referee, and charged toward Orton. The mere fact that she didn't get disqualified for that nearly took Trish out of the match all together. Batista grabbed Orton's arms and fought for control of the belt as Triple H, struggling to blink blood out of his eyes, turned to see the commotion behind him. Batista let go suddenly, sending Orton's hands, and the belt, crashing onto The Game's skull.

The crowd erupted as Triple H, dazed by the confusion, turned toward Trish. Without a thought, she Chick Kicked off the top rope, flying through the air once again. She felt her knee pop as the flat of her foot connected with the middle of his forehead. Batista and Orton stood in amazement as Trish hooked Hunter's leg and flopped over his chest.

As the referee counted the three, the entire arena erupted. She was sure she'd never heard anything so loud in her life. Cena slid into the ring and enveloped her in a hug, holding her body nearly a foot off the ground. Batista took the championship belt from the ground where Orton had dropped it and wrapped her numb fingers around it.

The entire women's locker room had emptied onto the top of the ramp – every woman she had loved or hated over the years was standing there, applauding her achievement. More than the win, that moment would stick in her mind forever, she realized later. The fact that this meant so much to them, opened so many doors for their futures, hadn't crossed her mind in the past week. But watching as Victoria, Lita, Stacy, Christy, and all the others extended their clapping hands to her nearly brought her to tears.

Until Bischoff's music hit and he fought his way through the line of women to the front of the ramp deck. The crowd began to boo, and Batista sat her feet back on the floor, his hand on her shoulder as the general manager raised his microphone and gave her that slimy fake smile. "Congratulations, Miss Stratus," he said with a cheesy grin. "You have done the unthinkable here tonight. You have, with a little help from your friends, achieved something that no other woman in the history of this business has been able to do. You have upset a man for the World Heavyweight title."

She wanted to thank him, but she knew this business far too well. When people who didn't like her started throwing congratulations her way? Well, she knew something was up. "What do you want?" Batista shouted from beside her.

"Well, I really do hate to break up the Feminist Power Party," he rolled his eyes and tossed a look to the other divas, "but I'm afraid your little celebration is premature, at best."

Trish was confused. Had she not just beaten the champion? Had she not won her match? When was she supposed to celebrate? She turned to Cena, but his face mirrored her confusion. Looking to Batista, she watched his shoulders sag with the weight of some knowledge he had failed to share. "What's going on?" she asked him.

He started to answer, but Bischoff spoke again. "You see, Trish, Triple H has a standard clause in every contract that he signs – it's a clause that guarantees him an automatic rematch if he is not happy with the results of his match. And he informed me before tonight's contest even began that if, by some miraculous turn of events, he actually lost to you? Well, he was invoking his clause."

Her stomach dropped to her toes as she turned and watched Flair and Orton support Hunter's weight in the corner of the ring. "He can't even stand up," Cena shouted.

There was a nod of concession from the general manager. "I can see that, Mr. Cena," he smirked. "But the clause also states that, in the event Triple H cannot wrestle his rematch, a pre-selected member of Evolution will be allowed to carry on in his stead."

She had never, in all of her years around the business, heard of such a ridiculous clause. Why would he want another member of Evolution fighting for him? Why would he want anyone else to hold that tile? Past history with Orton and Batista proved that his faction was not made of the most generous souls. He had to know that they wouldn't roll over and play dead just so that he could have his precious belt back.

Her heart jumped into her throat as a thought hit her. Flair would. In the exhausted state she was in, Flair would put her in a Figure Four with little problem, and she would tap out in seconds. And Orton, no doubt, valued his new spot too much to make the same mistake twice. There was no way that she could beat either of them now, not without help. And with Bischoff's watchful eye presiding, there was no way that Batista or Cena could get involved.

The timekeeper rang the bell and she stared at the men on either side of her in awe. Had she stayed there, safe between them, maybe she would have seen it coming. As it turned out, she rotated her body with every intention of telling Triple H what a backstabbing ass face he was, and walked directly into an RKO. Batista and Cena seemed more confused than she was, and no one broke up the three-count.

She had won the World title, and lost it again, in the span of an hour. Had Trish been able to lift her head at that moment, she would have slammed it into the canvas herself out of shere frustration. Never, in her entire life, had she felt like such a failure.


	10. Coming Out

The Emancipation of Trish Stratus

_A/N: You guys have been so good to continue reading this story even though I've been torturous in making you wait for the one piece of information you really want to know. So here it is - all will be revealed in this chapter. I'm anxiously awaiting the love/hate mail.And I don't own'em, in case you'vebeen hit over the head with a steel chair or something since the last chapter._

* * *

For the first time in more than a month, Trish felt alone. Batista had carried her to Cena's car as soon as Evolution started their in-ring celebration over Orton's title, and then he disappeared. Cena had helped her to her room, made sure she wasn't concussed, and then left her alone for the night. She didn't know what she was supposed to do next, but she had no intention of showing up for RAW the following night.

After nearly an hour in the hottest bubble bath she could draw, she fell into what had to be the most comfortable bed she had ever felt, other than her own. For the first time, the severity of what she had done sank deep into her skull. The look in Hunter's eyes, as he lay beaten in the ring, told her the truth as she refused to see it. Their relationship had been destroyed.

There was nothing that either of them could do now to make it like it was. But as she lay awake, unable to sleep without _his_ arms around her, she realized something. Hunter had started all of this, with his demands and his manipulations. If he had just minded his own business and let her be an adult, let her make her own decisions or mistakes or whatever, then she would have never hit him with that chair in the first place. And if he hadn't taken her title away, she would have never gotten into the ring and embarrassed him like she did.

Staring at the ceiling, she made a decision. She hadn't started any of this. But she would finish it.

XXX

By the time Trish got to the arena, found Batista and Cena, and went to gorilla position, Evolution was making their way to the ring. Confetti was falling and the three of them were smiling like kings. This was it – the moment she had been planning all day.

"This makes me sick," Batista snarled as the three men on the screen climbed into the ring and Orton took his congratulations. "I gave everything I had for that title, and to watch someone just hand it over to that son of a bitch makes me wanna," he stopped as Trish put a hand on his arm and shot him a winning smile.

"Relax, Sweetie. It's under control," she nodded to the screen as Orton took the microphone from Lillian and approached the center of the ring, belt over his shoulder.

"Hunter, you and I have been through some really good times, and some really bad times together," he said, his cocky grin firmly in place. "We have fought side by side, and face to face. We have been friends, and we have been opponents." He looked to the ground and then back up, sincerity beaming in his eyes as the crowd booed loudly. "I messed up, man. I turned on the only guys who ever had my back, and for that, I'm apologizing," he sighed.

Trish smacked Cena's stomach. "I'm goin' out there. Wait here, and if I need you?" He just nodded and turned his attention back to the screen.

"I wanna make it up to you," Orton finished, holding the title toward the man beside him.

Trish's music hit as all three member of Evolution turned to face her. Triple H rolled his eyes as Flair and Orton crossed their arms over their chests. If she made it out of the ring without getting the hell beat out of her, she would consider it a good night.

With a small wave, she ducked inside the ring and grasped the microphone she had picked up back stage. "Don't get all pissy, boys. I'm here for the party," she insisted. Turning to Hunter, she thought over everything she wanted to say. "I have spent the last twenty hours thinking a lot about what happened last night. More than that," she sighed and noted that she had his full attention. "Hunter, I've been thinking about this whole situation. When I couldn't sleep last night, I watched some old matches, some of yours, and I remembered something. Something that, in my mind, transcends titles and matches and all this other bull.

"I remembered crying the night you won the Royal Rumble. Do you remember that night?" He smiled proudly and nodded. She noted that Flair and Orton had both taken a step back from her – clearly, they no longer considered her a serious threat to them. "I remember those bitchin' parties after matches like Hell in a Cell and the Elimination Chamber." He laughed with her now. "I remember being so proud of you, every time your hand was raised in victory. Every time you won that belt, I remember feeling like I had, too."

Standing there, looking into his eyes, every emotion came rushing back to her – everything they had gone through, everything they had done. She wondered if any of this had really been worth it. Was any guy worth losing someone as important as Hunter had been to her?

"I remember," she forced herself to go on, "hating, with a seething hatred, anyone who took that belt away from you, because I knew you loved it so damn much. Sometime over the last twenty hours, Hunter, I realized something. This thing?" She pointed from herself to him and back again. "It was never about that title for me. But it was for you, wasn't it? This championship meant so much to you that, even though you didn't want to, you got into this ring with me to defend it. I'm the one who made things personal. I'm the one that lost sight of who we were and why I always respected you in the first place," she chuckled.

He put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes twinkling. He was in a good mood – she could tell from the smirk on his face. She knew him well enough to know his mood by the look in his eyes – that's the kind of friendship they had. And that's why she was out there. "Look, I didn't mean to interrupt your party. I just wanted to say that I get it now, and I'm sorry. I let things go too far, and I messed up the relationship that we had." Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes and swallowed all of the pride she had left. "And I would really like it if I could be the one who put that belt back around the waist of its rightful owner."

She turned to Orton, who smiled generouslyas he handed the belt to her. Trish felt its weight in her hands and looked up at Hunter, holding his gaze. He was so excited. He really didn't love anything as much as that belt, and now she knew it with one hundred percent certainty.

Holding Triple H's gaze, she took a step backwards and wrapped the belt around _his_ waist, staring up into his crystal blue eyes as she snapped it in place and then let her hand rest on the curve of his ass. She heard the snort and then the angry "What the hell are you doing?" from behind her.

Trish locked her gaze with Randy's as she spoke to Triple H. "I'm giving the belt to the man who earned it last night at SummerSlam," she said, chuckling softly. "I think it looks good on you, baby."

He leaned down and picked her up, kissing her deeply in front of a shocked arena, and a seething Triple H. Before Hunter or Flair could make a move, Orton walked to the ropes and held them for Trish, who jumped out and waited for him to join her on the floor. Hand-in-hand, they backed up the ramp, meeting Batista and Cena as they stepped out from behind the curtain.

Randy shook their hands and then put his arm around Trish's shoulder as all four faced Triple H. With the microphone raised to his lips, Orton spoke with all of the arrogance that had once made Trish sick to her stomach. Now it made her want to knock him to the floor and ride him like a dime store pony in front of everyone.

"Triple H," he said. "There's something I've been wanting to say to you for awhile now. If you remember, I told you a long time ago, that I would get back everything you took from me when you kicked me out of Evolution. I told you that I would wait until you weren't looking, and I would get back my pride, my blood, and my title." Patting the gold around his waist, he smiled triumphantly. "The day has come, Triple H. And do you know what the real kicker is? Not only did I get your title? But I got Trish out of the deal."

When he turned to look at her, she felt like the entire arena had disappeared. "I love you," she mouthed and then smiled brightly. The crowd was cheering loudly, and she felt good. She felt free – liberated from all of the secrets that had been holding her down for the last eight months.

"It feels good, Triple H, to have this belt back around my waist." Hunter was holding on to the top rope for support. He knew he couldn't take all four of them, but his face was red enough to say he might try. "And do you know what else feels good around my waist, man?" He winked and picked Trish up with one arm.

She wrapped her legs around him as Cena led the line off the ramp. She didn't know what would happen next, but she didn't really care. She had made the decision to choose her love for Randy over her friendship with Hunter, and she wasn't sorry. Even knowing that it would probably get ugly sooner than later, she had a hard time wiping the smile off of her face.


	11. Back to the Beginning

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I really expected to reemed out for the identity of the "mystery man" by someone, but you guys have been really kind. I guess it's safe to say now, since the truth is out there, that I'm a die hard Trish-Randy fan. That being said, though, I just got the idea for another story that won't feature that pairing - so if you're a Cena or Batista fan, just wait - as soon as I'm done with this one, they'll get their time in the spotlight with the amazing Ms. Stratus. But first, I gotta finish this one up, and that means I gotta get my ass in gear. You know I don't own anything, and I'm starting to feel redundant for telling you every damn time I post something. But since I'm broke, I don't think getting sued would be a hell of a lot fun, would it? _

* * *

Randy couldn't seem to wipe the smile off of his face as he, Cena, and Batista reminisced about the night's events over beers in his hotel room later. Cena was doing a spot-on Flair impression, and Randy couldn't help but think of their OVW days, when all three were training, and dreaming, of a day like this. A day when they all knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they had arrived in the business.

None of it had gone according to plan, really. When he had started rehabbing his shoulder back in May, Trish was just starting hers with her back. Neither of them held much affection for the other, but day after day in the same therapy room, tossing rubber balls to each other, and stretching their weakened muscles with no one else to talk to, had brought them together. Randy found her sardonic wit incredibly entertaining. And she found the arrogant, snide remarks under his breath quite funny. They were friends before they realized it.

When he had invited her to St. Louis, she had agreed whole-heartedly, and that's when it had happened. Sitting around the dinner table with his family, his mom and sister talking to Trish like they had known her forever, he knew. She belonged there. She belonged in his life, by his side. He loved her. His dad had dragged him out to the patio for a drink, told him to stop bein' such a coward, and let her know exactly what she meant to him.

Being in love was the best feeling Orton could ever remember. It was even better than beating legendary men from his business or making history as the youngest World Heavyweight Champion. With Trish, he felt indestructible. Nothing could touch him if she still believed in him – nobody else mattered. The world could think he was a total heel, but if Trish loved him, that was good enough.

When she suggested that he ask Hunter for a place in Evolution once again, he almost rethought their entire relationship. There was nothing, NOTHING, he wanted less than to follow Triple H around like a sick puppy for the rest of his career. He didn't want to help anyone else attain, or retain, that belt. But she said that it would be for the best. She said that she would make him see just how perfect they were for each other. All they had to do was pretend like nothing had changed between them for a little while – like they still hated each other – and then, when Hunter had accepted that she was a big girl and that she was in love with someone who was really good for her – they would let him in on the secret.

Maybe it was the sex that numbed his mind into thinking it would actually work. Or maybe it was the purity of the love he felt for her. Either way, he had made the most dreaded phone call of his life, and he had put on the best show he could muster. And he had gotten in. All he had to do was wait for her to do her part.

After that, things went crazy. She was hitting Triple H with chairs and challenging him for his belt. She was being rescued by Batista and Cena, and all he could do was play along. She had driven them past the point of no return, and to spill the truth would only result in pain and suffering for both of them. He had offered, on more than one occasion, to just tell Triple H the truth and take his punishment, but she promised she could work it out. She promised him that she knew what she was doing.

And she had. She had known exactly what she was doing nearly two weeks prior when she asked him the best way to cushion the RKO for minimal damage. He had looked at her like she was crazy. Why would she ever need to know something like that? But he could never tell his sweet Trish "no," so he had shown her on the bed in their hotel again, and again, until she was sure she had it down. That night, at SummerSlam, he felt her tuck her head into his shoulder before they hit the ground, exactly like he had shown her. She had known Hunter would pull something, and she had prepared for everything.

When Hunter and Ric kept him out until three in the morning, celebrating his victory, he was sure that they were catching on. Though he didn't know how – he was fairly certain he'd been careful enough to keep their suspicions at bay – he knew that their shameless attempts to hook him up with girl after random girl that night was more than just generosity. By the time he had called her phone to let her know what was going on, he was ushered to her voice mail, and he hadn't heard from her again until she appeared in the ring the following night.

He had made a decision at some point during the day. He was going to give Hunter his damn belt back and then tell him that he was in love with Trish, in front of the entire world. Let them beat the hell out of him, he didn't care. He just wanted it to be over. So when she had come out, saved him the humiliation of losing his title, and done the secret-spilling herself? Well, he didn't think it was possible to love her more than he had over the last few months, but that night – it took everything in him not to drop to one knee and ask her to marry him in front of everyone. He knew that there was no one else in the world he trusted, or needed, more than Trish Stratus.

"So, man," Batista finally sighed, standing and placing his empty bottle on the table between him and Cena. "I better go call the family, check on my girls," he winked, moving toward Randy with an outstretched hand.

"Thanks for everything, man," Randy responded, making his way to his feet as they embraced in a half-hug. "I mean, everything you did means a lot," he stammered.

Batista just raised an eyebrow as he turned toward the door. "Yeah, well, remember the deal, man," he reminded. "I help you get the belt, you give me a fair shot at winning it back?" Randy nodded and patted his back. "Tell Trish I said "goodnight," okay?"

When he was gone, Randy fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I feel like a little kid right now," he sighed. "Like a kid who just pulled one over on his parents or something."

Cena rolled his eyes. "You're such a girl," he spat. The bathroom door creaked at that moment and Trish appeared, drowning in a thick robe, her blonde hair sticking to her face and shoulders. "And yet you managed to score the hottest ass I have ever seen in my life," Cena added, looking Trish up and down with a customary smirk.

"Alright," Randy sighed, pulling himself into a seated position as Trish moved to the vanity and began to brush her hair. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Cena shook his head. "Then why don't you go find somewhere else to be?" Randy's voice was tinted with just a hint of irritation.

Cena stood, as Batista had, and put his bottle on the table. "Fine. I'll catch up to you later?" Randy nodded and shook his hand. Before he left, Cena hooked a right and dropped a kiss on Trish's cheek. "You did good tonight, baby girl," he smile.

She returned the gesture and gave a slight nod, but went back to brushing her hair as Randy walked Cena to the door. "Thanks, man," Randy said sincerely, as John stepped into the hallway. "I know you're new on RAW and everything. This probably wasn't the smartest alliance to make."

Rolling his eyes, Cena just shoved his hands into his pockets. "Stop droppin' that sentimental bull shit on me, man," he laughed. "You my boy – I got your back, you got mine. That's howwe roll." It was Randy's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, you wanna be all super-sensitive guy? Why don't you go lay some o' those cheesy-ass lines on your girl in there and leave me the hell alone, okay?"

They shared a smile and another handshake before Randy shut the door and sighed. It was, quite possibly, the most dangerous time of his career. But he never felt safer. He had his title. But more than that, he had good friends, and an amazing woman. Everyone else might think that he would be smart to cower in fear, but Randy Orton didn't feel like cowering. He felt like the King of the World.


	12. Feeling the Effects

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: More than anything, I want this story to feel real. So be sure to let me know if it gets too sappy and "fairy tale" for your liking, okay? Sometimes the cynic in me loses to the hopeless romantic, though. This chapter is what is left in the wake of their most recent battle. I don't own them, I just use them to do naughty things to each other. Enjoy._

* * *

She heard Randy shut the door as she fought to get a comb through her tangled, blonde locks. The adrenaline rush from the last two days was wearing off and she found that every part of her body was aching from the punishment she had inflicted upon herself. The Vicoden she had swallowed weren't helping the fire in her back at all. Her shoulders and thighs were thumping with a dull ache each time she tried to move them. And her feet felt like they were encrusted with glass each time she took a step. It was supposed to be the happiest night of her life, but her body hadn't gotten the memo.

The reflection of Randy's concerned gaze stopped her breathing in the mirror as she laid the comb aside and put a hand over his on her shoulder. "Hey," he said in a hushed voice. "Did the bath help at all?"

She shook her head, but the pain in her neck caused her to cringe again. "A little," she finally answered. "I feel bad," she smiled, turning slightly in her seat. Any movement seemed to remind her that she was broken, and just craning her neck to look into his eyes, hurt.

He stepped around to the side of her chair and squatted down, meeting her at eye level. With a hand on her cheek, he gave her a sweet grin. "Did you take the pain killers?" he asked.

She nodded a little and then sighed. "I mean I feel bad because this was supposed to be our big night. I was gonna give you the ride of your life, Orton, and now I just wanna lay down and die." She was disappointed, and she knew he was, too. Not that he would admit it.

The sexy grin that stretched across his lips went all the way to his eyes as he picked up her comb from the vanity and sat on the bed. With his knees bent and apart, he patted the bedspread in front of him. "Come here," he said.

Trish stood, limped to the bed, and crawled up. She turned her back to him and he slowly began to comb the knots out of her hair. It was gentle, his touch, as he worked with the mass of locks she sported. "You don't have to do this," she said.

He laughed and put a hand on her arm. "Baby, if I don't do this, do you know what you'll look like in the morning?" She swatted his thigh weakly and then rested her hand there, her fingers running over and under the hem of his shorts.

Once he had finished with her hair, he secured it on top of her head with the band she had given him. Pulling her robe back, he exposed her shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles there. "So, I thought we could go to St. Louis for a few days," he spoke, his lips close to her ear.

Trish closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hands on her arms. "So you wanna hide now?" she asked, hoping she sounded less accusatory than she felt.

"No," he defended quickly. "Just rest." She wiggled away from his grasp, her robe falling open slightly to reveal the bare expanse of her chest and the valley between her breasts. "For a couple of days. Maybe a week or two?"

Trish's eyes narrowed and she felt her heart rate increase. "Randy, hiding isn't gonna do any good. I didn't just put myself through hell so we could run away until everything blows over," she demanded.

The peaceful look on his face was supposed to calm her, but as her face reddened, he could tell it wasn't working. "Sweetheart, I don't want to run away," he assured her, moving to his knees on the bed and crawling to her. He knelt above her, taking her face in both hands to hold her attention. "But I have gone along with your plan from the beginning, and it's time you listened to mine." He shot her a classic, Randy Orton "you know you want to do whatever I want you to do" smile.

She hated, more than anything, that she could never stay mad at him for very long. She hated that he had some kind of mind-control power over her. Sighing, she took his hands from her face and wove her fingers through his. She was too tired to fight. "Alright, fine. What's your master plan?"

There was a triumphant and arrogant smile on his lips as he moved toward the headboard and pulled her, without much effort, into his lap. "First of all, I want you to know how proud I am of everything you've done over the last month, okay? You have made some really hard decisions because you believe in who you are and what you want – and I think that's pretty fuckin' cool, baby," he winked, kissing her neck before pulling back and continuing. "You have done things in that ring that I didn't even know you could do, and I, quite frankly, think you can do anything." She beamed at his compliment. "But even the most high-performance vehicle needs maintenance sometimes, and you are going to ruin your whole fuckin' career if you don't slow down and take a few minutes to regroup."

She started to argue, but when she looked into his baby blues, she saw a concern that overwhelmed her. She wasn't sure that anyone, in all of her life, had ever cared that much about her well-being and her health. "You know you're a hypocrite, right?" she smiled. "You're the jack ass who got in the ring with Batista after you knew your shoulder was fucked all to hell. If anyone should be telling me about taking care of myself, it's probably not you."

Randy conceded with a nod and loosened his grip on her waist. "True. But I was stupid, and I admit that. And now I'm learning from my mistakes and I'm not letting you get back in the ring until you've had some time."

Trish's eyes grew wide as indignation rose in her chest. "You did not just say that you're not going to let me get back in the ring, did you?" She huffed. "Like I need your permission?"

Randy's eyebrow raised and he watched as she tried to put distance between them, succeeding only in running into the leg that was positioned behind her back. "Rephrase?" he asked and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I would really like it if you would appreciate that I love you, Trish," he searched his brain quickly for words that would correct his previous faux pas. "And respect that this is something that's really important to me. I just wanna be sure that you're okay, baby," he pouted his lower lip slightly.

And she was gone. She couldn't stay mad, no matter what the confession, when that lip came out. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make him think that she was making a decision. "I appreciate that you love me, Randy," she started. "And I love that you want to protect me," she sighed.

He held a finger up. "Also, I'd like to have sex with something other than my own hand in the next month. And I'm just really afraid that you're not gonna be up for the challenge if you don't get some rest. And then it's back to strippers and groupies," he started, but she put her hand over his mouth.

She couldn't control the laughter that bubbled up from the back of her throat. "Alright, fine. But let me make it very clear to you, Mr. Orton, that I'm only agreeing to this for the sex thing, too," she warned him.

He sucked her index finger into his mouth and gave her his best "puppy dog" eyes as his tongue swirled around her knuckle. When he released the digit, he licked his lips. "Yeah, but you having sex with your hand?" he asked. She smacked at his stomach, but he grabbed her and flipped her over, resting his weight on his elbows above her. "Baby, I think that image might sustain me during this "I'm too sore to fuck you" diet you're putting me on," he winked.

Trish felt the pain in her back as his lips met hers, but she tried to forget it. Raking her nails down his chest and into the waist band of his pants, she smiled up into the shocked look on his face. "You said you were tired of sex with your own hand, right? You didn't say anything about mine," she added mischievously.

She wanted to feel him inside her, but the aches and ailments in her body were constant reminders that it wasn't a good idea. Maybe when they got to St. Louis? By the time she got him off and they rolled over to sleep, Trish was dreaming of the last time they'd stayedat his house together. That was the weekend they had locked all the doors, turned off their cell phones, and tried to catch up on all the time they had missed while trying to hide their relationship. The last thought Trish had as Randy's arm fell across her body and rested on her stomach, was that they didn't have to hide anything anymore. And that her shoulder was now killing her from thejerking movements she had just made. Damn him and that sexy groan.


	13. Why Are We Fighting

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I was hoping to get this chapter up sooner, but I was writing it while keeping tabs on Vengeance, and I got side-tracked. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it, and thanks for the rave reviews. Also, TrishOrton, thanks for spreading the word on my work. I appreciate it more than you know!_

_Also, I've totally avoiding any reference to the draft in this story, even though I've mentioned Cena on RAW. I'm choosing, for the purposes of this story, to act like that whole thing (the draft) never happened. Cena is on RAW because he just is. You'll understand why it's important after you read this chapter. Just know that I'm not trying to confuse you or anything. Also, in case you were wondering, and since I didn't really explain it before, this story was written on the premise that Batista lost his title to Triple H at Vengeance. I am now doing the happy dance because that didn't happenin reality - but for the story, it kind of had to. Just thought I would clear those issues up, since I totally ignored them for twelve chapters. My bad - sorry._

_Um, I don't own Randy or Stacy or Trish, even though I use 'em for my own amusement in this chapter. Oh, and for those of you who have started reading my other story - I was totally intending on updating it tonight, but since this chapter took so friggin' long, I've put it off until at least tomorrow. Sorry - but I promise frequent updates on both stories as soon as possible._

* * *

Dancing around the kitchen of Randy's St. Louis condo, Trish hummed along with the hip-hop song on the radio and chopped vegetables happily. After three days of nothing but relaxing with spa treatments and hot tub therapy, her muscles were feeling loose and ready for a work out. And she was banking on the fact that, as soon as Randy came home, he would be ready to give her one.

Dressed only in white, lacey, boy-cut panties and the white dress shirt he had worn to dinner last night, Trish giggled as the breeze from the open window sent whispers of his cologne wafting through the air. He had been right, whether she wanted to admit it or not – missing a few days of work was exactly what she needed to regroup and get back to fighting form. After all, he had his title. It was time to start focusing on regaining hers.

Grabbing the bottle of Corona from the counter beside her, Trish took a long drink, and then watched as Randy opened the front door and closed it behind him. He always looked good, either in a designer suit or his wrestling trunks. But Trish decided that her favorite look was the casual Randy – in his well-worn jeans and his St. Louis Rams tee shirt. Sometimes she forgot that he was nearly five years her junior – but dressed like a college athlete, it was hard to deny. And she liked it that way.

He stopped in the doorway and raised an eyebrow as he watched her, watching him. "What is this?" he asked with a smirk.

She shrugged and drank from her bottle again, making sure to hold his gaze as she ran her tongue around the neck and then placed her mouth over the opening. "Dinner," she finally answered, after making a show of swallowing and wiping the thin line of alcohol that had dribbled down her chin.

He moved to her with a determined look of hunger and put his hands on her waist. "You are my fantasy right now. You know that?" She accepted his brief kiss and then smiled as he stared down at her with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Finding my girl, in my shirt, drinkin' a beer and cookin' me dinner? Hot damn," he laughed, lifting her off the ground.

Trish gasped and laughed as she wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her fingers through his hair. "I've been missin' you so bad all day," she whispered, grasping his ear lobe between her teeth.

"Clearly, you're feeling better then?" he asked, but his voice sounded far away, like the answer to that question was the last thing on his mind.

She nodded and placed hurried kisses down his jaw and across his chin. "So much better," she groaned just before she captured his lips in a searing kiss that nearly knocked him off balance.

"Baby," he whispered finally, breaking the kiss and setting her feet back on the ground. "Let's go upstairs," he took her hand, but Trish held back. "You wanna do it in the kitchen? I'm okay with that, too," he shrugged, reaching out for her again.

She shook her head. "Let's eat first," she suggested. His face fell slightly. "I'm just plannin' on bein' up there for a long, long time, and I don't wanna take a food break." It was her turn to break out the "puppy dog" eyes and Randy waivered. "I promise, I'll make it worth your wait," she winked.

He wondered sometimes if she knew she didn't have to give him those eyes to get her way. He wanted to give her everything before she even asked for it. He wanted to give her things she hadn't even asked for yet. "I'm sure you will," he winked, kissing her forehead quickly before looking around the kitchen. "So what do you need from me?"

She let her eyes flicker to his pants and then smiled when he gave her a look of mock-warning. "I'm just making salad. I figured you and your dad probably had a big lunch, right?" Randy nodded and popped a slice of red pepper into his mouth. "Do you want something more? Because we could put some salmon on the grill?"

Shaking his head, Randy grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Nah. You know my dad. We ate enough to feed an army," he said. "So," he tossed another look around the kitchen and gave her a wide-eyed look. "If you got everything covered," his eyes floated to his watch.

"Go," Trish pointed. "Watch Sportscenter. I'll bring it to you in a minute." He smacked her ass as he walked out of the room, and Trish leaned against the counter with a sigh. A thought flashed through her mind – one that would have made the old Trish Stratus scared to move. But this time, it only made her smile wider. This was her life now, with Randy. Cooking dinner for them to share in front of the television. Watching him flirt and cajole his way out of helping her with said dinner. And giddily enjoying a life that revolved around her two favorite things – him, and their shared career.

XXXXX

"Okay, so I was thinking," Trish started, re-entering the living room after stacking their empty dinner dishes in the kitchen sink. She handed him another beer and then popped the top on hers. "Maybe we should talk strategy for our big return?"

Standing in the middle of the room, Randy stretched his arms over his head as he watched the Smackdown action on the television. "Did I tell you that Teddy Long talked to my agent the other day?" he pointed the television distractedly watching the action.

Trish sank to the couch and shook her head. "Um, no," she said.

"Are you sure?" Randy asked, watching as Matt Morgan took on the Big Show on the television. He sat beside Trish and reached over her for the remote on the couch arm.

But she wasn't interested in those gorillas. Staring at him blankly, she shook her head. "I think I would remember something like that. What did he want?"

Shrugging, Randy reached over and wove his fingers through hers. "Just said he had an offer in the works for when my contract was up," he said simply, as if it were no big deal.

Trish laughed slightly and played with his fingers, wrapped loosely around hers. "Like you would ever go to Smackdown," she rolled her eyes and settled her shoulder against his. He didn't respond. "You wouldn't ever go to Smackdown, would you?"

With another apathetic shrug, he seemed to have tuned out of their conversation completely. "Give me a chance to get back at the Undertaker for 'Mania," was all he said.

"And to be away from me," Trish accused.

Rolling his eyes, he shot her a look that said she was crazy. "Now why would I want to do that, Trish? Huh?" She pouted and stared at the floor. She knew that he would be giving her those eyes, and she didn't want to see them. "You know how I feel about being away from you," he added, nudging her shoulder. "Plus, the whole sex with my own hand thing."

He was trying to be cute, but she wasn't feeling it. Something had been nagging at her since they started eating dinner, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Now a sense of dread was filling her belly, and she was not about to sit back and let it pass.

"Why are you avoiding the subject of going back to work?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm not."

"You totally are. Every time I ask you about our next plan of attack, or what the strategy is, you change the subject. And now you're talking about Smackdown? Something is up, Randy," she deduced. "And if you're that scared of Hunter, maybe we should," she started.

He sighed and tore his hand free from hers, wrapping his arm around her body and pulling her close to his chest. "Baby, you don't have to worry about Hunter anymore, okay? He's my problem now – and I am not scared." He was emphatic with his last statement.

But that answer wasn't suitable to Trish and she wasn't backing down. "Hey, your problems are my problems, buddy. We're in this thing together, remember?" He "hmph"ed and rolled his eyes. "What? Are we not?"

"We are," he agreed. "We are in _this_ thing together, Trish. This relationship. We have never been in the whole "beating The Game" thing together. That's been all you, since day one."

She pulled away from his grasp and stood before him, hands on her hips. How dare he, after all she had done for him, act like she had been selfish? She had risked her own career, maybe her own life, for him. Everything she had done over the last month had been for him. "Randy, I have put myself on the line for you. I got your fuckin' title back, for Christ's sake! How can you sit there and act like we haven't been doing this together? I have a right to know what we're doing next," she defended.

Randy rolled his eyes and dropped the remote onto the floor, prepping himself for the big fight. If she wanted to go – he had plenty to say, plenty he had been sitting on for well over three months now. "Like I had a right to know that you were gonna hit Hunter over the head with that chair? Or how about like you filled me in on how you were gonna challenge him for his title?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was coming out deep and threatening. He took a deep breath, trying to re-center himself.

"I didn't even know I was gonna do those things until I had already done them. I told you that. You said you supported me," she reminded him, her face turning redder by the minute.

"I did support you. Because it was something you felt like you had to do, something you had to prove." He put his hands on his hips and cringed as the next words came out of his mouth. "But you never once asked me what I thought about any of it, so don't you even try to tell me that we were in it together."

She didn't know what was happening. Why were they fighting about this? He had his title, and he was out of Evolution again. This is what they had dreamt about, talked about for hours. This is what he wanted. Why was he pissed? "I don't know what the hell is going on, Randy. I don't know why you're so upset," she paused and threw her arms in the air.

His eyes narrowed as he stood, towering over her, but keeping his distance. He didn't want to scare her into agreeing with him, but he had never been good at fighting while seated. "That's why I'm pissed. Trish, you keep tellin' yourself that what you did was for me, but it didn't help me," he pleaded with her to understand.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," she shouted, her arms flailing at her sides. "Didn't help you? What do you call that damned piece of gawdy jewelry on your dresser upstairs?"

He balled his hands into fists and then relaxed them at his sides. Licking his lips, he tried to carefully think out his words before he said something he couldn't take back. "I call that a gift," he said. "A gift for which I am grateful, by the way," he tried to smile, but it didn't work. "But now I have to prove that I deserve it."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "I cannot believe that, after everything I have put myself through, you're gonna spew some macho, testosterone-driven bull shit about your fuckin' ego at me. You beat the champ, and you won the title. What else do you want?"

"Dammit, Trish, this is not a guy thing," he demanded, a little louder than he intended. He saw the flash of concern in her eyes, and reminded himself to breathe again.

Her eyes shot fire as she stepped closer to him and raised an eyebrow in defiance. "Ya know, if you have such a problem with strong, independent women, maybe you should have stayed with Stacy." She regretted the words in an instant.

His blood boiled as he took another step back, forcing distance between them. The urge to punch her came quickly, and he forced it out of his mind before he had time to entertain it. "I'm only gonna say this once, and I want you to listen carefully. I love you, Trish. I love you _because_ your strong, and _because_ you have the courage to go after what you want, even if it doesn't make any fuckin' sense." He steadied his gaze and bore deep into her with his eyes. "I could have stopped your feud with Hunter in the beginning. I could have told him the truth, or I could have tried to talk you out of ever getting into the ring with him at SummerSlam. That's what I wanted to do, ya know?" He shook his head. "But I tried to ignore what I wanted because you so desperately believed that it was something you needed to do. And I thought that's what love was, Trish. I thought it was compromising what I wanted so that you could have what you needed."

She couldn't speak. She was still angry with him, still felt like he didn't appreciate what she had done. But he had never told her how strongly he felt about everything that had happened in the last couple of months. Every time they had talked, at night when no one was around, he had just told her that he supported her, that he was behind, that he had her back.

"So what do you want from me?" she asked finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. "You want me to just sit back and watch whatever you come up with next? Because I don't know if I can do that, Randy. It's not me," she stated, her voice barely above a whisper.

He wanted to shout that it hadn't been him, either, but he had done it. For her, he had stifled who he was, and let her be whatever the hell she wanted to be. But he calmed himself, moving toward her. With his hands on her shoulders, he waited for her to meet his eye. When she didn't, he spoke in a smooth, reassuring voice. "Baby, look at me," he ordered. Her brown orbs met his blue ones and he felt her shoulders sag. "I just want you to let me prove, to myself, what I need to prove." His eyes were expectant as he moved one palm to her cheek. "I don't want you to worry about me at all. I want you to focus on getting your own title back, because as much as I would love to go out there Monday night and challenge Christy for her belt, I don't think it'll fly."

Trish smiled reluctantly and then rolled her eyes, stepping out of his grasp. "I don't like being shut out," she told him. "I don't like not knowing what's going on. But I'm going to call a cease fire for now," she stated, looking over her shoulder toward the stairs, and then back at him, as she slowly unbuttoned the shirt she was draped in. "But only on the grounds that I have been dying to have you all day, and I'm not willing to let a little fight stand in the way of my Stratusfaction."

She left the room, and Randy followed, knowing that this conversation was far from over. He wasn't even sure that the problem had been solved, or if either of them really knew what that problem was. But he was still a red-blooded, American male, and there was sex to be had. Fighting could wait until another day. Like the day he told her he was going to Smackdown.


	14. Bring It On

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: Sorry I made you guys wait for a couple days for this - I was kinda caught up in the other story for a minute. This chapter isn't very long, but I promise, there's big stuff coming, and it's not going to be pretty for everyone! Oh, that sounds promising, doesn't it? Anyway, I'm trying to think of some more things I own, but Orton, Cena, Stratus, Batista, and everyone else I mention here is not on any list I can come up with. Enjoy, guys - and thanks for the great reviews._

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"You ready for this?" Randy asked, holding the car door for Trish, who stepped out with her head held high.

With a confident nod, she grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers around his, resting her shoulder against his arm. "I'm gettin' my title back tonight, baby," she answered. "And then," she stopped just outside the back entrance of the arena and turned to face him.

Randy smiled down on her, accepting her kiss as she stood on her toes to reach him. "Shit, baby. You sure you don't wanna just head back to the hotel? Since nobody knows we're here yet," he smiled when he finally pulled back, his breathing slightly labored.

"We can't be the most powerful couple to ever reign over this company from the hotel room," she reminded him, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans and giving his ass an affectionate squeeze.

"Ya know, Trish," he smiled as he ran a finger across her collarbone. "With your hand there, I don't really give a fuck about reigning over anything but you, Baby," he winked.

There was a deep throat-clear from behind them, and Trish blushed as Batista approached, duffle bag over his shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt," he grinned.

Randy let go of Trish's hand and offered a "man hug" to his friend. "Not a problem, man. You seen Cena yet?" His eyes drifted over the parking lot again as he pulled Trish to his side.

She breathed in his scent and tried to forget that Hunter was somewhere in that building, just waiting to exact his revenge on both of them. With Randy's arm on her back, though, she found it hard to be anything but completely confident. He fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans and quickly dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Where are you?" Randy asked when Cena picked up the phone. "Great." She felt her heart jump into her throat at his tone. "Nah, we'll wait out here." He snapped the phone shut and looked from Batista to Trish and then back. "There's a camera crew waiting," he informed them.

Batista just rolled his eyes and Trish rolled her eyes, pulling away from Randy's side to stretch her arms and legs. "This is bull shit. Randy, I have a match to prep for," she groaned.

"You'll be great, baby," Randy assured her, turning back to Batista. "We just stick together, the four of us, okay? Make 'em think we're forming some kind of group?" Batista nodded. "We look like a pretty formidable group, don't you? Like DX or The Four Horsemen? Maybe The Nation or, dare I say, Evolution?"

"But we are so much better lookin' than those ass faces ever were," Cena's voice sounded from behind them. He shrugged at the glares he was receiving from Evolution's former members. "Come on, Kids. Let's go wow the world."

Trish laughed to herself as they prepared to enter the building. But Randy held back until everyone was looking at him. "I know that we all feel a little bit like we're chasing our tails here. Things have happened fast, and we're not exactly sure whatcomes next?" They all laughed and Cena let out a "whoop." "When we get in there, whether there are cameras around or not, we are perfectly poised and completely confident. No nerves - never let 'em see you sweat - Is that clear?" He was answered with three nodding heads and focused faces. Standing back, he grinned and nodded toward the door. "Let's go then," he shrugged.

Batista went first, followed by Cena, then Randy, gripping Trish's hand as she held on to his belt loop and braced herself for the attention they were about to get. She reminded herself that they were only in this position because they had put themselves here. This is why they had kept secrets from everyone, why they had worked so hard to deceive the world. She was about to be Women's Champion again. She was on the arm of the Heavyweight Champion. There was no reason not to smile.

Cena stood to Todd Grisham's left, as Trish stood directly to the little reporter's right, Randy's arm over her shoulder, with Batista at his other side. Todd held the tiny speaker to his ear and listened to the lead-in from JR and King before smiling into the camera. "Thanks, JR. I'm standing here with the World Heavyweight Champion, Randy Orton, and Trish Stratus, John Cena, and Batista." The camera captured all of theirsmiling faces, and then focused back on Todd, Trish, and Randy. "Randy and Trish, the rumor is that the two of you missed RAW last week because you were avoiding Triple H," he started.

But before he asked an actual question, Randy rolled his eyes and huffed. "Todd, Todd, Todd," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I hope that you're not implying that we are scared of Triple H, man," he laughed, along with his friends, "Why would we be scared of Triple H, Todd? It's not like he's the champion or anything, right?" He laughed again before shooting a deadly glare into the camera. "Triple H, you listen to me very carefully. We are not afraid of you. No, ya know what? Not only are we not afraid of you – we are anxious to see how you think you're going to get back at us. Because we have already proven, Triple H, that we're better than you. We've already proven that we can beat you. And you got nothin' on us. In fact, ya know what I say, Triple H? What we say?" He looked down to Trish, who was glaring at the camera with an angry, focused look. "Tell him what we say, baby," he nodded his head toward the camera, as if giving her permission.

Trish gritted her teeth and found that an irritated tone wasn't hard to find. This character was fun. "Bring It On," she hissed. Without waiting for Todd to thank them for their time, the four of them moved away from the promo set-up, and walked down the hall.

They had talked big, she and Randy. But Trish knew that they had just stepped into it with both feet. She only hoped this great plan the guys were working up was going to be enough to save them all. Because she had done this for a happily-ever-after, and if she didn't get it? Someone was going to pay.


	15. The Game's Not Over Yet

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: I wish that I could tell you guys what all of your reviews mean to me. It's so awesome to know you're enjoying what I've written. Thanks a million times over. I know there's been some down time, some chapters that seemed to putter along at a pretty slow pace, but I promise that there will be more manipulating and mind games from Triple H, Trish, and Randy in the last few chapters of the story. I'm thinking that this will all wrap up in three or four more chapters, but I'm already thinking there might bea sequel here. You'll have to let me know what you think when we get to the end. But, for now, enjoy!(Y'all know I don't own shit, so do I really need to keep saying it? I will, justto be sure, but come on. . .)

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It took Trish less than three minutes and a Stratusfaction to regain the Women's Championship. As Lillian announced her the winner and Earl Hebner raised her hand in victory, she listened to the booming cheers of the crowd. Though the fans had been behind her for more than a month, Trish still found it hard to get used to – people liking her again. She had been "boo"ed for so long, that sometimes she wondered what had changed their minds.

And then she saw him. Randy cleared the curtain and started down the ramp, decked out in a smokin' navy suit and a light blue dress shirt, his championship belt over his shoulder. He walked up the stairs and between the ropes, taking the Women's Championship belt from the referee while smiling at Trish, who watched him curiously. They had talked about celebrating her win later – but she hadn't expected him to come to the ring. "What are you doing?" she asked him with a grin that said she was more than happy to have him there.

Randy took the microphone from Lillian and then moved to Trish, towering over her in the center of the ring. He smirked that sexy little smirk that turned her insides all mushy, and then licked his lips. "I wanted to be the first one to congratulate you on your win, baby," he winked as he bent his knees slightly. "And I wanted to return the favor that you did me a couple weeks ago. I would be honored if you would allow me, Trish, to put this belt around your smooth, sexy waist?" She nodded and turned, wiggling her ass toward him and playing it up for the crowd. Their reaction said that they were eating it up as he wrapped the soft leather around her and snapped the button.

Smacking her ass, he spun her by her shoulders and then kissed her forehead and grinned at the beaming smile she was shooting at him. He then hitched his own belt higher on his shoulder and lifted the microphone to his lips again. "Looks good on ya," he winked at Trish again. "Everything is like we planned now, Sweetheart – it's like we dreamed, Trish," he started.

His well-planned speech was interrupted as Triple H's music hit and the Randy smiled at the crowd in satisfaction. Trish had been paranoid all day, unsure of when Hunter would exact his revenge, but Randy knew it would be public, and he was ready for it. "Triple H," he said confidently as the veteran stopped with Ric Flair at the top of the ramp. "How's it goin', man?" he asked.

If Hunter was amused, he surely was not showing it. "Congratulations, Trish," he said dryly. She rolled her eyes as he turned his attention back to her boyfriend. "You gotta be feelin' pretty good, huh, Orton? I mean, you played The Game, right?" Randy nodded in arrogance, and Trish tried to keep up the "confident" face, but she was finding it harder and harder not to let them see her sweat. Something bad was coming, and she wasn't sure Randy even realized it.

Triple H went on. "I'm impressed, quite frankly. Impressed that the two of you managed to pull off that whole twisted plan. Impressed that you had the guts to go through with it," he nodded as he spoke. "And I'm really impressed that you found a woman who was willing to do all the dirty work and win you both a title, Orton."

Trish cringed. Hunter wasn't the Cerebral Assassin for nothing, and he was proving his capacity for mind games now. She just hoped that Randy saw what was happening. He had to know that this wasn't a friendly conversation. It was bait.

"I guess I learned the 'Sleeping with Powerful Women' lesson pretty well, huh?" Randy asked.

It was a subtle barb at his mentor's marriage, but no one in the arena missed its implied meaning. Hunter's eyes flashed, but he let it go. "If you've learned anything, Kid, then it better be this: It's gonna take more than one well-executed scheme to take me down."

Randy nodded and lazily draped his arm over Trish's shoulder. "This is all fascinating, Triple H," he taunted, "but let's get to the point, okay? I mean, you came out here to demand a shot at getting the title back, right?"

"I did," Triple H affirmed, but then held up one finger. "But this time, it's gonna be on my terms. Your new friends, Cena and Batista, don't get involved. No unfair advantages."

Trish felt Randy's side shift, and she glanced up to see him chuckle and roll his eyes. Her shoulders stiffened under his touch, and she almost nudged him and told him to stop provoking the most vicious man in their business. She knew he wasn't helping anything, but she also knew that she couldn't do anything to stop him – not here, in front of a live audience, and the cameras, and most of all, not in front of Hunter.

"Alright," Randy said, that cocky smile in place on his lips. "Why don't you lay out your terms then?"

Triple H took a step forward. "You and me, no outside interference, at Unforgiven. One fall to a finish. One-on-One. RKO v. Pedigree. Man-to-man. Unless you don't do that anymore – I mean, I could always just fight your girlfriend for it again," he shrugged.

His fingers dug into her hip at The Game's implication, but the smile never left his face. "Why stop there, Triple H? You wanna go? Let's go all the way, baby," he challenged. "No disqualifications. No Holds Barred."

For a split second, Trish worried she might choke on the testosterone between the two of them. But Triple H wasn't done upping the ante just yet. "I'll give you you're Hardcore match, Orton. Not a problem. I will beat you so badly your own mother won't recognize you. You think you went Hardcore with Mick Foley? I'll make that match look like a Women's Championship match," he sneered, turning to Trish and pointing. "Women's Championship? That reminds me, Trish. I owe you a little bit of pay back, too. So here's my final stipulation. The Game versus the Legend Killer, no holds barred, at Unforgiven. With special guest referee, Trish Stratus."

The crowd went crazy as Trish turned to Randy with wide eyes. What the hell? "Wait a minute," Randy held up a finger and shook his head. "You want my girlfriend, who helped me screw you out of your title, to serve as the referee for our match at Unforgiven?"

Triple H smiled. It was a sick, cold smile that made Trish's stomach turn inside out. She knew what he was doing. Snatching the microphone out of Randy's hand, she shook her head. "No chance in hell, Hunter. No fuckin' way!" She realized, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, that she had committed a major television faux pas, but she didn't care. They could bleep it out. "I know what you're doing and it's not gonna happen," she insisted. Randy reached for the microphone, but she refused to give it up. "Do you see what he's doing?"

Randy nodded and tried to calm her down, the wild look in her eye making him slightly nervous. She was on the verge of losing her cool.

"He's punishing me, or he thinks he is," Trish spat, turning back to Hunter. "You told me, back when I challenged you for your title, that you were going to find out who I was dating and you were going to dismantle him. So this whole thing – this No Holds Barred match – you think you're gonna give me an in-ring seat to watch you tear apart the man I love, right?" Triple H smirked. "And it'd just be icing on the cake if I had to count the three to give you your belt back, right?"

She was about to tell him to go to hell when Randy took the microphone from her hand and put his arm back around her waist, pulling her to his side. "Baby, no worries, okay? I mean, we both know I can do this, right? He's not gonna have a chance to tear me apart. I'm gonna prove to him, and to everyone else, that I deserve this title. And I can't think of a better way to do it than with you at my side."

Nodding, she mouthed "okay," but she felt numb. He hadn't even thought about it. He had just let Triple H lure him into a dangerous, potentially devastating, match. And he had allowed their former friend to drag her right into the middle of the whole thing. Trish felt like she was the only one in the whole arena who realized this could not end well.


	16. A Seed of Doubt

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: It may be a couple of days before I get another chapter up in either of my stories. My best friend is coming in from out of town to chill for the holiday, so I don't know that I'll have much time to write. Unless she helps me, and then you're all in for a real treat - a drunken, nonsensical treat, more than likely. Anyway, hope everyone has a great holiday. Thanks for reviewing - you've been so great - all of you reak of awesomeness! I'm going to own a large pizza with mushrooms and peppers when the delivery guy gets here, but I don't own any of the characters you read in this story. Have a great holiday!

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"You guys ever wish you could just go back to the old days?" Randy asked as he, Batista, and Cena sat around a table in some non-descript bar after the RAW taping.

Batista raised an eyebrow curiously, but Cena answered with a laugh. "Hell, no. But I'm not starin' at an anything goes match with a fuckin' lunatic, either," he pointed out.

Randy rolled his shoulders. He wanted to play the cocky, over-confident, unafraid Legend Killer at the moment, but he couldn't muster the energy. Cena was wrong – Triple H wasn't a lunatic at all. He was a calculating, strategizing genius. And he had a hell of a lot of personal vendetta to exact in that Unforgiven match. Even though he was the Champion, he knew that he was the underdog, and he didn't like the feeling.

"Where's Trish?" Batista asked, checking his watch. They had been there for twenty minutes and she had yet to show. He wasn't used to seeing one of them without the other anymore.

Shrugging, Randy tipped his beer bottle to his lips and then scraped his fingernail over a non-existent spot on the table. "She went back to the hotel." He looked up at Batista, his eyes filled with something indiscernible. It was either worry or a 'leave it alone,' but the big man couldn't tell. "She was fuckin' livid," he added, his shoulder shaking with an amused grin. It wasn't funny, but Trish had no idea how sexy she was when she was angry.

"You tell her about Smackdown yet?" Cena asked, leaning back in his chair. He still wasn't sure why Randy had decided to leave RAW and head to the other brand, and he wasn't all together convinced that it wasn't the young champion's way of hiding. If he was on Smackdown, Triple H couldn't touch him.

Randy's eyes clouded over as he looked from each of his friends, to the ceiling, and then back to the table. "I'm waiting until it's official," he said flatly.

Batista, never one for offering much personal advice, shifted in his seat and rested his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of him. "If you want my opinion," he started, his eyes meeting Orton's, as if to ask if he should continue. Randy nodded. "I think you should talk to her about it _before_ you make it final, man. You want to spend your life with her, right?" Again, the younger man nodded. "Then maybe a huge decision, that's going to put months and miles between you on a consistent basis, should be one that you make together?"

He knew that Batista was right, that he should definitely tell Trish about the offer, and about his reasons for even considering it, but part of him still held a grudge. "She hasn't talked to me about any of the decisions that she made, Dave. I mean, Jesus, she's been running off like a half-cocked crazy person for months. Now, all of the sudden, I'm just supposed to start consulting her before I make a move?"

"She's your girlfriend," Cena stated. He loved Randy like his own brother, but sometimes, the man had the sensitivity and brains of a door knob.

"So?"

"So? My god, you really are a jack ass, ya know it?" He turned to Cena, "This is why he's never had a relationship that lasted more than a month and a half," Batista pointed out and Randy rolled his eyes, absorbing their punishment without a word. "Orton, man, listen – I been married for awhile, right? And you learn a few things over time – mostly that it takes work and sacrifice."

But Randy wasn't ready to listen. He shook his head and held up a hand in defense. "No, you guys listen. I have sacrificed for months, watching Trish pull bull shit maneuvers that I knew could get her killed. I have kept my fucking mouth shut, and all anyone can do is tell me that I'm the one who needs to be sensitive. Fuck that!" He tried to control the volume of his voice, noting that a few guys at another table were staring at him now. "If she can't give a little, this whole thing is never gonna work anyway." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted having voiced them.

Cena seemed to realize that this conversation was heading for dangerous waters, so he cleared his throat and motioned for the waitress to bring another round. "A'ight, so let's stop with the girlie bull shit and talk about what's important," he stated, tapping the table for effect. "Way I see it – one of two things is gonna happen at Unforgiven, man. Either you gonna prove that you a real champ," he held up one finger, and then another. "Or Hunter's gonna tear yo' ass out through your chest," he shrugged.

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Randy shot dryly.

Batista rolled his eyes at the two of them – something he found himself doing quite frequently. "So we just have to make sure that you keep that title," he said with a shrug.

XXX

Trish had been known to do a stupid thing or two, especially when she was angry. So, after twenty minutes of imagining what she'd like to yell at Randy, it wasn't a surprise that she left the room, intent on doing the dumbest thing she could possibly EVER do.

Standing outside his hotel room, she raised her hand and lowered it three times. What was she thinking? She didn't know, but she rapt her knuckles against the door and prayed that an answer would come to her soon.

When he pulled back the heavy door, there was a satisfied smirk on his face. "Hey, Trishter," he winked, leaning in the door frame and looking her over.

He was dressed in warm up pants, his long hair in a ponytail, and he smelled like a fresh shower. She looked around him to see his room empty. "Can we talk?" she asked nervously.

Hunter stepped back, opening the door and allowing her to step past him. He was angry, no doubt, but something about having her there tweaked his human side just a little bit. It had been too long since they had hung out and shared a laugh or two. Of course, it had been too long since she was his trusted and loyal friend, as well.

Trish sank to the bed and ran her hands over her denim-clad thighs, licking her lips. Her mouth was dry and she wasn't sure that she could speak. Silently, she watched him move around the room, pouring himself a glass of water, before sitting in the chair across from her. He rested his left ankle on his right knee and dangled the sweating tumbler between his fingers, watching her with an intensity she had forgotten he possessed.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked finally, raising the refreshing liquid to his lips.

Trish shrugged and looked at her watch, trying to act far less concerned than she actually was. If she gave him anything, a hint of apprehension, he would take a mile from her. "Out with the boys," she answered as confidently as she could.

But he caught the shift of her eyes, noted the stiffness in her shoulders. "That's some freedom you got there, Trish," he commented with a laugh. "I mean, wasn't that what this whole thing was about for you? Proving to me that nobody controlled you – that you were your own person?"

"I don't know what you're implying," she started to get defensive.

But Hunter just held up a hand and shook his head. "Nothing. I'm not implying anything. I just find it ironic that you snuck around behind my back for months with Orton, and now you're sneaking around behind his back to see me," he added.

Her eyes flashed and she bit her lip to keep from saying something stupid. Anything she said was going to be stupid at this point. Hell, being there was stupid. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked finally. He seemed confused. "I know what I did hurt you. I know that I probably could have done it a little bit better, that I could have changed things. I know it didn't have to end like it did," she started.

"It's not over, Sweetie," he warned ominously.

She nodded her head, though, and met his eyes. She was tired. Tired of running from him, hiding from him, and being scared of him. She was tired of fighting. And, more than she wanted to admit it, she missed him. He had been like her big brother, and as much as she loved Randy, he was nothing like a brother. "Is there anything left?"

He watched her eyes as they searched his for some sign that he still felt even an ounce of compassion for her. Nodding, he watched her with a casual air that he knew she was so desperately trying to project. She wasn't as skilled as he was – not in the art of manipulation. She wasn't calculating or deceptive. She was passionate, and she acted on instinct. No one would ever accuse Trish Stratus of being pre-meditatively evil.

"Then why are we doing this?" she asked, her voice catching before she could stop it. "We are not these people, Hunter. I'm not this person. I thought that I could prove myself to you and then go back to the way things were, but I can't. I can't keep doing this," she cleared her throat and stopped to breathe. She hadn't wanted to break down. He wasn't supposed to see this side of her. It was only giving him more ammo, and she knew it.

But as he watched her with critical eyes, she couldn't help it. She loved him like family. She missed him like a dead relative. She needed him like the available shoulder and listening ear that he had always been. Maybe he wouldn't believe her, but she had to tell him, to at least try, before she lost her mind and everything else that mattered to her.

Hunter watched as Trish fidgeted. It was her way of screwing up all of the courage in her tiny body. Something big was coming – a confession or an unburdening of her soul. And he didn't want to hear it. Anything she said, he would be forced to use against her, and he didn't want to do that anymore. He hated Orton – that much was clear in his mind. But he couldn't, no matter how much he tried, hate Trish. He couldn't make his heart shut her out. He couldn't lie awake at night and comprehend causing her pain. In fact, it nearly killed him when he stopped and thought about the bruises he had already inflicted on her. Even if it was her fault to start with.

He leaned forward and leveled his gaze at her. He wouldn't let her speak – wouldn't let her give him tears or weakness. "You are that person, Trish," he corrected and she shook her head. "You may not have started out that way, maybe you didn't want to be, but you are now. Because you see, Sweetheart, you don't take on the dark side without stepping into it." His voice was calm and sincere, almost sweet, as a father explaining the hard truths of life to his child. "You can't touch evil – you can't taste betrayal – without it sticking to you, taking hold and turning you – even just a little bit."

She blinked back a tear and straightened her back. He liked to call himself "evil" and the "devil" but she knew that he wasn't. And she knew that he wasn't right. "You're wrong," she started.

He stood and moved to the bed beside her. "Am I? You know why all of this started? Because I was trying to protect you from this. I was trying to keep you away from guys like me. I know I'm an asshole, Trish. I know that I am a power-hungry, vicious, blood thirsty mother fucker who doesn't care about much if it doesn't benefit me." She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Come on, Trish. You know, as well as I do, that I'm not the saint you want me to be. But let me tell you this," he held up a finger and made sure she was watching him before he went on. "Neither is Orton."

Trish's heart sank. If she was one hundred percent honest, she knew that Randy was a lot like Hunter. He was arrogant and cool. He was talented and ruthless. And he was damn determined to get his way, no matter what he had to do to make that happen. But when it came to her, she knew that he would do anything for her. She knew that he loved her, and nothing would change that. And that's what scared her.

Because he was like Hunter. And she knew that, if their desires didn't mesh, her relationship with Randy would end exactly like the one with Hunter had. If she didn't get absolution, some sort of forgiveness, for ruining this relationship, she worried she was damned to repeat it with the man she loved. "Randy was just doing what I asked him to do. He was just back in Evolution so that I could show you that he was trustworthy. So that you would accept him again, so that you would be okay with me loving him."

Hunter shrugged. "Well, he follows orders well," he admitted. "I mean, he had me totally fooled, and you know how hard it is to do that." She gave him a half-smile, her eyes focused on her folded hands. "He played an Evolution member to a tee, Trish. I mean, the ruthless in-ring execution, the power lunches and conferences behind the scenes? He was a pro. And the parties," he stopped and bit his lip, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

Trish knew he was just trying to get under her skin. She knew that he was pushing a button, but God help her if she wasn't taking the bait. "What?"

"Nothing." Hunter stood again and walked toward the counter, refilling his water glass. "I mean, I'm sure you guys talked about it ahead of time, right? The fact that he would have to seduce all those women in order to make us believe he was really back in the game?"

Was he implying that Randy had cheated on her? Sure, he had come back to the hotel smelling like perfume a few times, and there was lipstick on his collar once or twice, but what did she care about a few skanks in a club here and there? He was twenty-five-year-old man. Hell, she had bought him a lap dance at a strip club in St. Louis for his birthday. "Flirting was part of the gig," she insisted.

Hunter nodded and took another drink. "Well, then I wish you would have a talk with Steph, because she would have me by the short hairs if I flirted women the way your boyfriend does," he laughed.

Trish felt like she was going to vomit. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't make her feel any better. She stood abruptly and shook her head as she moved toward the door. "Whatever the outcome of this match at Unforgiven, Hunter, I really am sorry that things went the way they did for us," she stated in an even tone. Standing in the hallway, she met his eye and didn't flinch. "I'm sorry," she repeated before turning and heading back to her room.

Standing in the middle of the room, he stared at the door and felt the guilt bubbling in his gut. He had hurt Trish, that much he could read on her face, and that had been the last thing he had wanted. But he had a plan to execute, and a title to regain, and he had to get the ball rolling. He didn't want them together, but he didn't have to break them up. All he had to do was plant a seed of doubt, sit back, and watch them fall apart on their own.


	17. Eating Words, Swallowing Pride

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: This chapter's a little short, but I think I said everything that needed to be said. Only three more chapters, Kids! I'm almost done with The Emancipation, so stick with me: The surprises aren't over yet. I realized, after going back and re-reading the beginning of this story, that poor Victoria got left out of the shuffle after chapter 2. I thought she needed some more face time. As usual, I own nothing - except that new "Animal Lover" tee shirt. My roommate bought it for me! Enjoy, and review, because I love to hear from all of you. _

"I'm only going to say this once, and I mean it with all of the sincerity and love that only your best friend can muster," Victoria said, as she checked her hair in the large mirror hanging above the hotel dresser.

Trish looked up from the floor, where she was resting on her stomach, and squinted against the light, which Victoria had decided to stand directly in front of, before groaning and looking back at the television. "Have you seen this show?" she pointed to whatever reality show she was pretending to watch.

"Trish," Victoria sighed, sinking to the floor and leaning against the bed. She stretched her long legs and crossed her ankles in front of her, staring at the back of Trish's head. "You know I love havin' you as my roomie again, right?" she asked.

Sighing, Trish hoisted herself into a seated positing and leaned against the television cabinet, pulling her knees up to her chest. "But?" she asked, her eyes intent on her friend.

"But you can't hide out here forever," the darker diva stated the obvious. Trish had been crashing in her room for more than a week now, avoiding any confrontation with Randy, and it was starting to get weird. At the arena, the couple was all over each other – like nothing had ever happened. In the ring, and on the television, no one was any the wiser. But as soon as the bell sounded, so to speak, they were back in separate corners, acting as if they had nothing to say.

She knew that her friend was right – she couldn't avoid Randy forever. But he had been waiting for her the night she talked to Hunter, and to say that the confrontation had been unpleasant was the understatement of the century. She had actually found herself surprised when his head didn't literally explode when she asked if he had ever cheated on her. There had been regrettable words from both parties, and she had ended the fight by storming out the door and heading directly to Victoria's. She wasn't interested in going back yet.

Reaching for her water bottle, Trish wiped her stringy hair out of her make up-less face and collected her thoughts. "I don't have anything left to say, V. I mean, I've said everything a million times and he just doesn't get it." Sadness filled her voice as she imagined his crystal blue eyes and the look of confusion he always got when she tried to explain her position to him. "He wants me to just do my own thing, let him do his, and then show up as his trophy girl when he needs me. I can't do that," she insisted.

Victoria licked her lips and tried to think of the best way to say what she knew Trish needed, but certainly didn't want, to hear. Her cell phone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She checked the ID, flipped the phone open, said two or three words in response to the person on the other end, and then flipped the phone closed again. "Alright, I gotta go," she stated, smacking Trish's foot before she stood up.

Trish's heart sank to her toes. If Victoria was going out, she would have to spend hours by herself, thinking about her relationship with Randy. That would lead to crying, and she was sick of crying over stupid boys. She was sick of crying when she was supposed to be living her happily-ever-after with the man of her dreams.

As she walked toward the door, Victoria hitched her purse strap over her arm and leveled her eyes at her friend, looking very much like a scared kid, cowering in the corner. "Trisha, how much do you love him?" she asked.

Her eyes brimmed with unexpected tears and she bit her lip. She would not go into "ugly cry" again. She crossed her arms over her knees and pinched herself to stop the internal pain. "More than anything," she whispered, staring at the floor.

"More than the pride you're choking on right now?" Victoria asked. Trish started to protest, but the raven-haired beauty held up a hand. "You're a strong woman, Trish, and you have every right to be proud of that. You want to be sure that everyone knows you can do anything the boys can do, that you don't need help from anyone. And I'm not arguing. You beat the Heavyweight Champion, baby. I get that," she winked. "But if you don't need him for anything, if you can do it all on your own? Then why the hell should he stick around?" she asked pointedly.

Trish gulped back a tear and looked into her friend's eyes, a heartbreaking look on her fragile features. "Because I want him," she answered defensively. In her mind, it was a compliment. She had proven she didn't need a man around, but she wanted one. Not just anyone – she wanted Randy.

"Sweetie," Victoria narrowed her eyes at Trish as the smaller woman started to stand. "Randy is all man, right?" Trish raised an eyebrow and then licked her lips. "Alright – thanks for that disturbing and completely nauseating answer," she rolled her eyes and watched Trish sank to the bed. "Trish, Sweetheart, men and women are different."

"Thanks," Trish rolled her eyes and threw her arms up.

"What you need, or don't need, is irrelevant. What he believes that you need? That's what matters. It fuckin' sucks, Sweetheart, but you may have to swallow your pride and be the girl that needs him sometimes." She didn't wait for a response before leaving.

Staring at the ceiling, Trish heaved a deep sigh and thought about what Victoria was saying. She had spent so much time expecting him to support her, and she hadn't been offering him much in return. But admitting it was one thing. Getting off of her ass and crawling back to him was another altogether.


	18. Getting It Back

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: You guys have been so friggin' unbelievable when it comes to reviewing this story! Thanks a million times over. Sorry this chapter's a little sappy. I kinda wanted to see if I could make myself cry. Anyway - hope you like it anyway. I don't own any of the people that you read about here - or any people, really. I wish I did - I wish I owned a hard-bodied man that I could just keep in a closet and bring out when I felt the need to play. Wait - I think I'm teetering on the border of TMI. Enjoy the story, folks.

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Randy stood outside Victoria and Trish's room and gathered his courage. It wasn't supposed to be this hard to talk to his girlfriend. It wasn't supposed to be this hard to handle a relationship with the woman he loved. And he hated that it was this hard because of him, because of his ego.

Rapping his knuckles against the door, he waited impatiently for an answer. The idea that she wouldn't be there hadn't crossed his mind. What if she was out with Victoria, picking up guys? That wouldn't be out of the question, he knew. Especially as mad as she had been with him the last time they spoke.

But as he was about to turn and walk away, he heard the click of the door and the sliding of the chain lock. He had just seen her at the taping two days prior, and he was pretty sure she had dropped ten pound and forgotten to shower since then. "Hey," he smiled slightly.

She gave him a half-grin and stepped back, holding the door as he walked past her. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, her voice weak and strained. He was fairly certain he detected the gravelly twinge of a throat strained with tears.

Shaking his head, Randy sank to the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm good. Thanks," he stated, his eyes drifting to a large bouquet of flowers on the vanity. "Those V's?" he asked.

Trish swallowed hard and leaned against the television cabinet, her arms crossed as she shook her head slowly. "They're from Hunter," she said honestly, avoiding the beautiful arrangement as she watched his reaction. His eyes clouded over angrily, but she watched him swallow whatever words he was thinking. "He sent 'em this afternoon," she added.

"Have you been talking to him?" he asked, his eyes finally meeting hers.

She couldn't lie. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't lie to him. Her head nodded slowly and she licked her lips quickly, her shoulders stiffening. "Couple times," she admitted. "He's trying," she defended. Randy started to say something, but Trish put a hand up and cut him off. "I know exactly what he's trying to do, Randy. You don't have to tell me," she insisted, moving across the room to sink into an overstuffed chair.

He didn't know what to say. In his own room, he'd thought of a million ways to start this conversation, but now that he was looking at her, and the tension in the room was about to strangle them both, he didn't know if he even remembered how to speak. Hunter knew something was wrong with them, and he was exploiting it. They both knew that much – but neither seemed to know how to combat it.

Something was different about him. Trish examined her boyfriend with a critical eye. She had seen him upset before. She had seen him depressed, anxious, hurting, injured, beaten, broken, and bleeding. But she had never, even before they were dating, seen him defeated. The sagging shoulders, the empty eyes, the blank expression? They all pointed to the fact that Randy, her champion, had given up hope. And it broke her heart to watch him pull a rolled up piece of paper out of his pocket and throw it onto the bed. "What's that?" she asked, making no attempt to move, though her body begged her for permission to wrap its arms around his neck and never let go again.

He stood in front of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, focusing his attention on the paper before him. "That's my Smackdown contract," he answered flatly.

Fuck permission. Her body stood of its own volition and walked to the bed, grabbing the packet of papers. Flipping through the twenty or so pages, her eyes rested on the bottom of the last page. He had already signed it, and so had his agent. All that was left were the signatures of Teddy Long and Vince McMahon.

The text may have pledged his allegiance to Smackdown, but Trish knew what it really meant. It meant that he cared more about protecting his title from Triple H than being with her. "So this is it, huh?" she asked, biting her lip as the tear pricked the backs of her eyes. "This is how it ends?"

Randy closed his eyes and let the finality and resignation in her words wash over him. "It's not what I want," he whispered, staring at the floor and then the ceiling as he blinked back an unexpected tear of his own.

"What then, Randy? Because I thought you said you didn't want to go to Smackdown. I thought you said you didn't want to be away from me. I just," she sighed, turned, and forced herself to look at him. She didn't want to fight. She just wanted to feel like she could trust him again. "I just want you to tell me what you really want. Tell me the truth."

He ran his hands over the top of his head and then his face, gathering all of his courage. He wasn't a sentimental or overly-sensitive guy. He didn't know how to put his emotions into words – didn't like talking about his feelings or whatever other Dr. Phil bull shit girls wanted from him. "I want us to be what we were," he said. "I want to know where we got so far off the path. I just want," he looked dead into her eyes, and his courage crumbled. "I don't know. I want to get back to the original plan."

She sat on the bed, one leg tucked under her as the other dangled inches above the floor. "Is this about the title?" she asked, not sure she knew him anymore. It had only been a couple of weeks, but it felt like a lifetime since she had felt his loving touch. Even when he was holding her hand or wrapping his arms around her shoulders or waist on camera, it was cold and distant.

"Remember the night I told you that I loved you? The first time?" She nodded. "And I told you I didn't know if that was a good thing or not because I wasn't sure how to love somebody who wasn't me?"

Trish smiled in spite of herself at the memory. It had been the perfect, cheesy movie-moment that every girl dreams of having. They had been in his car on the way back from his parent's house. She remembered that she had begged to choose the radio station that night, and that he had given in to whatever R&B music she wanted. There were no clouds or stars at dusk that night, and Monica was singing "For You I Will" while they held hands and rode in silence. She remembered that the silky voice on the radio sang the lines, "I will be your fortress, tall and strong. I will keep you safe. I'll stand beside you, right or wrong," just before he blurted the words she hadn't been expecting.

And she remembered how terrified he looked when he realized what he had said. "I told you I didn't know, either," she answered finally. It had been true. She didn't know anything about functional relationships. No more than he did. But she remembered, as she watched him standing before her now, that she was willing to figure it out with him.

"I wanna get back to that," he stated, sitting on the bed again, now just a few feet away from her. "Trish, I didn't ask you out that day at the gym so I could get inside Triple H's head. And I didn't take you to St. Louis with me so I could get that title back. And I didn't fall in love with you to make the fans like me again. When we started this thing," he reached for her hand and breathed an inward sigh of relief when she didn't jerk away from him, "it was all about us. At least, it was for me. Remember in the beginning? When I first agreed to go back to Evolution?" She nodded, captivated by the conviction slowly filling his eyes. "And I spent that week in Connecticut, just training with Hunter and strategizing and everything?

"I didn't spend that week dreaming about getting my title back, Trish. I didn't spend every moment in the ring thinking about how good the gold was going to look on me." Her eyes pooled with tears and her lip started to tremble, but he forced himself to go on, not to break down. "I spent every waking moment thinking about you. I missed you. I almost told Hunter a million times that week because I just wanted you. Back then, I didn't even give a shit if I ever got the fuckin' belt back. I just wanted to be back with you, even if it was just to throw that goddamned rubber ball back and forth in the therapy room.

"I don't know how we lost sight of it, Baby," he sighed, letting go of her thin fingers. "I don't know when it became about Hunter or Dave and John or Christy or whoever the fuck else has taken our eyes off each other, but somewhere along the way, we lost it."

A thought struck her in the gut and she looked into his deep, blue eyes. "Are you just trying to get me back before I have to ref this match?"

He couldn't have looked more hurt if she had smacked him in the face. "If you have to ask me that, Trish," he stopped and shook his head, moving without thinking. With a firm hand at the back of her neck, he pulled her body close and crushed her lips against his own. With all of the emotion he couldn't express in words, he kissed her. His breath grew short as he sucked on her tongue and held her face between his large hands.

When he finally let her go, Trish put a hand over her chest, just to be sure her heart was still beating. "I love you," she whispered, shaking her head. "But I don't know that we can just pretend like nothing has happened, Randy. I mean, whatever the reason, we've kinda moved past the "Take Back" stage, don't you think?"

He smiled and stood, holding a hand out. "Maybe we can't take it back, but we can definitely confront it together, right?"

She held the contract in her free hand as she stood and took the one he was offering, allowing him to lead her toward the door. "Not if you go to Smackdown," she pointed out.

Randy rolled his eyes, took the papers back and pulled her down the hall toward the elevator. "Let's forget about this," he waved the contract toward her, "until after the hot make up sex?"

Trish settled into his arms as he leaned against the glass wall of the lift, and rested her head on his chest. "Fine. But we will talk about it," she warned.

"If you still remember how to talk when I get done with you," he murmured into her neck, causing her world famous giggle to escape without warning. "Oh, God," he groaned and she felt him hard against her back. "I've missed you."


	19. It's Not Worth It

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: Our sweet little love story turns a little violent here - just thought I'd give you a word of warning. It's Unforgiven, and it's a No Disqual match between two men who have proven they're not afraid to shed a little blood over a fuckin' belt,so what else would you really expect? Anyway,this is almost the end, kiddies. One more chapter after this and I put Trish's Emancipation to bed. By Saturday, you'll all know how it ends.Send your reviews - you know I love hearing them. And you know Idon't own these charactes, I just enjoy torturing them and fucking with their lives on paper. Enjoy!

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Blood stains covered more than half of the white canvas. More had been spilt on the Spanish announce table, the barricades, and the floor around the outside of the ring. JR and King would, no doubt, call it "carnage," but the mess that Orton and Triple H had made at Unforgiven was more than flesh wounds and bruises. It was more than some fluids and concussions.

Randy had dreamt about this day for weeks. He had focused on it, visualized it, and played it out a million different ways in his head. He had talked about with Cena and Batista, strategizing and scheming off a thousand different scenarios. He had lain awake at night, with Trish in his arms, discussing how they would celebrate when it was over. Together, they had all come up with every possible situation and circumstance that Hunter could throw his way, and he was ready for all of them.

When he had walked to the ring, earlier that night, he felt like the Champ. He and Trish had, at least, started healing their relationship. They had discussed, at great length, his reasons for wanting to leave RAW, and her reasons for wanting him to stay. And they had reached a compromise together.

He had calmly explained that he wanted to be a true legend, someone who was undoubtedly and completely respected for what he had done inside that ring. He wanted to be a man who was remembered by business insiders, and fans, as someone who worked hard and deserved what he had. But with behind-the-scenes politics being what they were, he knew he didn't stand a chance of getting the Triple H/Evolution monkey off his back as long as he worked for the Monday night brand of the company. He had explained that both he and Dave were planning on jumping ship as soon as contractual limits allowed, if for no other reason than to get the hell away from Hunter for awhile.

It had been hard for Trish, but the conviction in his eyes left her no choice but to agree with what he had said. She promised him that she would support whatever decision he made, but she wanted him to know that she was not in favor of spending months at a time apart from him. She made it clear that she didn't like the plan, or the fact that he had kept it from her, but that she would be right by his side when the final decision was made, one way or the other.

Laying on the sweat-soaked mat of his championship match, Randy blinked his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His head was throbbing and his legs felt numb. Every time he thought about rolling over to stand, the shooting pains in his back held him down like invisible chords. Finally, he managed to flop an arm toward the ropes, but his hand connected with something cold – no doubt the steel chair Hunter had hit him with several times already.

Sounds faded in and out as snippets of the last forty-five minutes flashed through his mind. Hunter hitting him over the head with the chair. Randy pushing Hunter into the ring post, shoulder first. Hunter suplexing him onto the Spanish announce table. Hunter driving an elbow through his chest, and the table. Randy wrapping a fistful of television cable around Hunter's throat. Hunter hitting him with a lead pipe, wrapped in barbed wire. Randy using the brass knuckles Cena had loaned him to gash Hunter's head open.

Most of all, he saw flashes of her. Trish, dressed in her little black and white stripes and black pants, sauntering to the ring. Trish warning them both that she wasn't going to put up with their shit. Trish screaming for Hunter to stop hurting Randy. Trish screaming for Randy not to kill Hunter. Her face twisted in horror as they each went to the top rope and then fell together to the ground outside the ring, causing a heinous sound as their bodies bounced off the corner of the steel steps.

He struggled to sit and attempted to clear his head. Why hadn't Hunter pinned him yet? He had been lying there for what felt like an eternity – it was plenty of time for someone with The Game's experience to regroup and get the cover. And why wasn't the crowd screaming anymore? It seemed as though everything in the arena had stopped, though there were a few mutterings as he blinked the blood out of his eyes and propped his body into the corner.

EMT's were running to the ring, followed by trainers, and guys in suits. There were stretchers and medical bags. They weren't supposed to come out until this was all over. They weren't supposed to stop the action. Randy shook his head in confusion as a referee he recognized, but whose name he couldn't remember, slid into the ring and stood over Hunter, who was struggling to his knees. His eyes followed the trainers to the opposite corner, and they rested on her.

In all of his preparation, imagination, and planning – this was the one thing he would have never, if he had trained for years, been ready to see. Trish, flat on her back, blood pouring from her temple. The lead pipe was near her tiny body, her blood mixed with his on the barbed wire prongs. He blinked several times in an attempt to remember how that had happened. He remembered Hunter coming at him, and he remembered ducking out of the way.

His heart felt like it stopped. He had tried to duck, but his knees had buckled, and he fell on his face. That's when the ring had started to blur and things stopped making sense. That had to have been when Hunter, in attempt to permanently disfigure Randy's face, inadvertently knocked Trish out cold. That was the moment that changed everything, for Randy Orton, forever.

Adrenaline hit him in the gut with a rush and he found himself walking on legs under some control other than his own. He made it to her as the trainer was strapping her to the board and prepping her for the stretcher. Her face was blank, her eyes closed. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing. "Is she still," he couldn't even ask the whole question.

"She's breathing," one of the EMT's assured him, shooing him away.

Turning, Randy realized that Hunter had made it to his feet and was now standing just inches behind him. The crowd watched with baited breath to see who finally won the World Heavyweight Title. Randy knew he could hit the RKO – with the blood pumping through his veins, and the look of concern in Triple H's eyes, he knew that he could do him in. "Let's finish this," he growled through gritted teeth.

Hunter turned his eyes from Trish to her boyfriend and nodded. It was their job, after all. No matter what happened, no matter who got hurt, the show went on. This is what they did – that was why the fans came back. They were the immortals, impenetrable by weakness and pain. They thrived where mere men cowered in paralyzing fear.

But before Triple H could stuff Orton for the Pedigree, the young man fell to the ground. To the crowd, it looked like a collapse, but Triple H knew better. He knew the young Legend Killer well enough to know that the kid was full of adrenaline and nowhere near falling down. "What are you doing?" he asked, standing over Randy and kicking his sides. He was sure that the audience thought he was just toying with his prey.

"Pin me," Orton finally answered when Triple H knelt over his body and punched him in the head.

"You're a fuckin' idiot, Orton," he taunted, wrapping his arms around the young man's neck in a somewhat modified rear naked choke. "You could have beaten me a minute ago," he admitted.

But as Randy felt the world starting to darken and Hunter's hold stealing his oxygen, he mustered his strength to whisper four final words to his opponent. "It's not worth it."

He lost the World Heavyweight Title at Unforgiven, for the second year in a row, but he had done it on his own terms this time. He hadn't been pinned and he hadn't tapped. But, as the world disappeared and he slipped into unconsciousness, even that victory seemed hollow. The title didn't really matter. Nor did the respect of his peers or the recognition of the fans. Not in that moment between life and death.

Trish mattered. The love of a woman he knew he didn't deserve mattered. And, he vowed to himself, if either of them ever woke up from this night, he would make sure she knew that.


	20. One Last Bad Decision

**The Emancipation of Trish Stratus**

_A/N: Alright, just a couple of things. First of all, I was going to write this chapter yesterday, but then you're awesome reviews of the last chapter made me nervous. I'm totally glad you all loved 19, so I hope this one isn't a disappointment. Also, I went back to the beginning for some of the dialogue in this chapter, so don't freak out and think you're reading the wrong thing. It's what I like to call "bringing the story full circle." Maybe you wouldn't even notice - I don't know. Anyway, I've said it, like, nineteen other times - but I don't own Trish and Randy. I hope you enjoy the ending to The Emancipation of Trish Stratus, and thanks to everyone who has been so supportive of my first wrestling fiction. You guys are the reason that I keep doing this - so either take a bow or take the blame! And, as always, I hope you enjoy._

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"You," Trish pointed across her hospital room to a shocked looking man in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, "have lost your damn mind. Are you completely fucking retarded, man?" She waited for an answer, but he just smirked and moved into the room, lowering his large frame into the chair beside her bed. "In the history of bad ideas, Randall, this was the most fucked up, ass backwards, shit-for-brains idea I have ever heard. You cannot possibly be serious."

Randy reached out and wove his fingers through hers, careful not to jostle the IV in the back of her hand. "Baby, settle down," he smiled, leaning over to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

But Trish had spent the last hour rewinding and re-watching Randy's match from Unforgiven and she was not about to calm down. Sure, she had spent the last two weeks drifting in and out of consciousness, finding it better to just pass out than deal with the hellacious pounding in her head. And she had twisted her back all kinds of wrong, thanks to the fall she had taken in the ring that night. But she was not about to let Randy off the hook with just a warning. Not this time.

"How can you sit there and tell me to settle down, Randy? You gave that fuckin' match away. You could have won right there," she pointed to the "paused" action on the screen, "and you laid the fuck down and gave the goddamn belt away. What the hell is your fucking problem?" He didn't answer, only continued to smile at her, a tranquil smile that made her blood boil. "I had one hell of a concussion, lost way too much fuckin' blood, and might have some brain damage because of that fuckin' match and you gave it the fuck away!"

He looked around, sure that a doctor or some nurse was about to burst in and tell him to leave. He couldn't get Miss Stratus so riled up – she needed her rest. She wasn't out of the woods yet, and even she said she felt okay, there were a lot of internal injuries that they still had to assess. Trish's inability to stay awake for more than an hour was making it hard to diagnose anything concretely. "Why don't we talk about something a little less, I don't know, stressful?" He suggested. "Like the vacation that I'm gonna take you on as soon as you get out of here? I was thinking maybe Cancun, or Maui?" She stared at him blankly. "What about Italy? We've never really gotten to spend much time there," he pointed out.

Trish squeezed his hand until he was looking straight into her dark eyes. He wasn't peaceful at all. He was scared of something. She could see the fear in his eyes. A couple of weeks ago, she had watched him step into the ring with Hunter, completely fearless, but now he looked like a frightened child. He knew something. Something that he wasn't telling her. And more than the knowledge he had thrown a championship match, his lying pissed her off. "What?" she asked pointedly.

Randy blinked and cleared his throat. "I'm staying on RAW," he finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I tore up the contract today."

Had she been able to jump up and down, Trish knew that she would. He wasn't leaving her? He was staying on RAW? That was great. And then her brain caught up with her heart and she stopped the party inside her head. "Why?" she asked.

With an incredulous look that said she shouldn't even have to ask, Randy stood and motioned for her to scoot over. He climbed into the small hospital bed and cradled her against his chest. "Is this comfortable for you?"

She rolled her eyes and dipped her head, showing him the bruised stitches on her temple. "Nothing is comfortable for me," she answered and then shot the best smile she could muster in his direction. "But it's better than being alone."

He kissed the uninjured side of her head and rested one of his hands against her stomach while the other twirled a piece of her long hair. "Why am I staying on RAW?" He repeated the question and she nodded. "Because my whole life's been about me, Trish. It's always been about what was best for me or what I wanted to do. I've never worried about anyone as much as I've worried about myself." He heard her chuckle and tried his best to pull her closer to his chest. "And then you came along, and I don't think I even realized what a great thing that was. I mean, not only are you the hottest chick on Earth, but you're also good for me. You take me outside myself, make me want to care about somebody else for a second.

"And when I saw you on that mat, all bloody and shit," he stopped and cleared his throat, seemingly surprised by the emotion the memory evoked. "Trish, I love you. More than any of the reasons I have for moving to Smackdown, that's for damn sure. I just don't," he stopped again and shook his head. "Dammit, I am not this guy," he laughed slightly, wiping the one tear that he hadn't been able to hold back. "Do you see what you've done to me?"

Trish laughed through the barrage of tears that were smacking the backs of her eyes. "You think I'm this girl? I have never cried over a man like I cry over you, jack ass," she accused, her head throbbing with each sobbing laugh that made it's way out of her throat.

Randy hugged her close and kissed the top of her head as gently as he could before pulling back and looking in her eyes. "Trisha," he sighed, kissing her bruised and swollen lip gently, "if I lose any chance at another title, I'll be bummed, and more than a little pissed. But if I lost you?" He shook his head and kissed her again.

Accepting a little more of his affection than her body should have allowed, Trish groaned as Randy's hand started inside the back of her hospital gown. His grasp was desperate, and as much as she wanted to continue touching him and listening to his moan into her mouth, another round of stabbing pain in her skull protested loudly. Pulling back, she gasped for breath and then smiled at him. "You have to go," she said the four words she never thought she would say.

Running a hand over the top of her head, Randy's eyes filled with concern. "I got it," he nodded. "You need your rest."

But Trish grabbed his arm and shook her head, a bad move in her current state. Things got a little bit blurry, but she pushed on, knowing that what she had to say couldn't wait. "No, I mean to Smackdown. Randy, I know you're trying to be the sacrificial hero boyfriend and everything, but nothing has changed since you gave me that incredibly well-thought out list of reasons you needed to do this," she insisted.

He laughed at that and then relaxed his back against the wall, her head resting on his shoulder. "You're kidding, right?" he asked.

Trish shook her head and let her eyes drift shut slightly. Exhaustion was weighing on her, but she was determined not to give in to the sleep until she had said everything that she had been thinking all afternoon. "For months now, I have done everything that I could do to be sure that I got my happily-ever-after. I have lost my mind for you, Orton. I have done things I never, in a million lifetimes, thought I could do, for you and because of you.

"You give me this undeniable, indescribable strength to be a completely liberated version of myself." She rotated in the bed and smiled up at him. "And now it's my turn to return that strength. I'm gonna hate being away from you, not seeing you every day and falling asleep next to you every night. I'm not gonna like the arrangement, but you need to go to become the next true legend in this business. You need to earn the respect of all the people who pay hard-earned money to watch you do what you love to do, what you're so fuckin' good at doing. You need to become one of the biggest stars this company has ever seen."

He watched as she delivered her little pep talk, and he felt another attack of emotion pounding against his chest. Refusing to break down for a second time in one conversation, he steeled himself against it and tightened his grip on her side. But he had never, in his twenty-five years on Earth, seen anyone look at him with so much belief and hope. He had never truly felt that anyone thought he could be the next big thing. But Trish's eyes said that she not only believed he could, but that he inevitably would. "You think I can do all that?" he asked, even though the answer was clear.

She rested her face against his broad pectoral muscle and kissed it sweetly. "I do," she nodded, sweeping her kiss up toward his neck. Every injured part of her body was begging her to stop, but the rapid staccato of his pulse convinced her to soldier on. When he squeezed her side a little too tightly, though, she retreated, meeting his eye once again. "And I think you need to go to Smackdown to do it."

Randy knew she was right. He knew it because he had been the one to tell her all of that in the first place. But she was in the hospital, and there was no clear date on when she would be released. Her future was so unsettled, especially with the current climate in the locker room. Female wrestlers were a dying breed, and if she couldn't stay healthy for more than a month or two, her job would be in jeopardy. They both knew that, and Randy couldn't convince himself that it was okay to leave her in such a fragile state. "What about us?" he finally asked.

Trish shrugged. A month ago, she would have worried that they would never survive a separation like this one. But now, she was one hundred percent confident that it didn't matter where their bodies were on the globe – their hearts were gonna be together. "What about us?" she asked him back. "Does going to Smackdown make you love me any less?" she asked. He rolled his eyes and gave her a quick kiss in response. "Then I guess we just work the long distance relationship until my contract runs out or you decide your tired of that side," she suggested.

With a sigh of resignation, Randy finally let his body relax against the bed as he held Trish's head to his chest and listened to her mumble something about taking a nap. He would go to Smackdown, not because it was best for him, though he knew that it was. He would do it because she had asked him to. And he knew now, for the first time with absolute certainty, that he would do anything Trish Stratus asked him to do.

Trish drifted toward a peaceful sleep with a smile on her face. She was grateful to Hunter for this moment. She was thankful that he had freaked out over Jeff Hardy, and that he had come completely unhinged over the entire Chris Jericho/Christian debacle. She was glad that he was so overprotective, because it had given her the chance to realize that real love was worth fighting for. She would bless the day Hunter demanded she stop dating Randy, because it taught her to stand up for what she knew was important.

And this one was especially important. More than ever, this one meant something. This guy lying next to her in her hospital bed wasn't just anyone. He was The One. She had finally found the guy who best complimented everything she wanted, and needed, to be. She smiled because she knew, for the first time in her life, that everything really was going to be okay. Hunter hadn't ended them. Their own petty, stubborn pride hadn't ended them. And she would be damned if she let Smackdown end them.

"I love you," she mumbled just before the sleep enveloped her mind.

Randy kissed the top of her head and then un-paused the action on the television, content to just be there while she slept. "I love you," he answered as her breathing began to even out. Trish had once told him that he made her feel like she could do anything, even the impossible, with style and grace. But as Randy felt Trish's head growing heavier on his chest, a wide grin spread across his perfect features. He was the one who had learned to do the impossible. He had learned to love someone more than himself. And, he realized as he turned his eyes back to the screen, where Triple H was choking him out, that he would do it all again in a heartbeat.

As he felt his own exhaustion finally starting to settle in, Randy thought back to a night he and Trish had shared, before the world knew their secret. And her words were the last thing on his mind as he drifted into the first truly peaceful sleep he'd had since Unforgiven.

"It doesn't matter if I'm with you in the privacy of this room, or in the middle of a public arena, Randy. Because no matter where we are, or who knows about it, I feel like my heart is free. And I can't think of anything that would make my life any better."

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_I just thought I would let you know, in case you were wondering, that I have thought about some possible sequel options for this story, but nothing is set in stone. Let me know if you want to see what comes next for these two, but know that it won't come for awhile. I want to finish Her Head v. Her Heart, and I have a couple of other ideas to play around with before I get to The Emancipation of Randy Orton. I'm just kidding - that's not what it's going to be called. At least, I don't think so._


End file.
